


☆ Sleigh ☆

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Additional Warnings in Author’s Note, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Fingering, Autofellatio, Caring Castiel, Castiel in Makeup, Christmas, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossdressing Dean, Dating, Dean Winchester and Charlie Bradbury friendship, Dean Winchester's First Time With a Man, Dean in Makeup, Dean in Panties, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Feel-good, Fingerfucking, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Flustered Castiel, Flustered Dean Winchester, Illustrated, Long Distance Relationship, M/M, Magic, Magic Realism, Makeup Artist Castiel, Non-Repressed Dean Winchester, Openly Bisexual Dean Winchester, Openly Gay Castiel, Out of the Closet Dean Winchester, Pet Play, Phone Calls & Telephones, Premature Ejaculation, Romance, Santa Castiel, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Snow, Stormchaser Castiel, Storms, Submissive Dean, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean, sex scenes at the end ft:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:54:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 46,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21880549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: On Christmas Eve, freshly-uncloseted Dean is dumped before his first-ever date with another dude. There to lift his spirits is Castiel, a talented mall-kiosk makeup artist with blue hair and a shy smile. But Cas is all that and more: he also happens to do seasonal work for actual, literal Santa.Contrary to all plans ever made, Dean is swept away for one spectacular night with Cas and his sleigh-pulling moose, chasing storms, delivering gifts, and talking about Dean’s ideal first time with a guy.Okay, cool.New plan?Date Cas.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 131
Kudos: 494
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this A FULL YEAR AGO but delayed editing so long that I figured I may as well wait an extra 6 months and post it at a relevant time. Thus, here it is: a Destiel Christmas AU. Hope you enjoy ♥
> 
> Fun fact: [I passed 3 million words on my AO3 account](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/189784982705/almaasi-if-i-post-all-the-completed-fics-in-my) with this fic!!
> 
> Beta’d by [Joanjun](https://roisu10.tumblr.com/), [Katie,](https://crab-full-of-rocks.tumblr.com/) and [Amara](https://sweetdreamspootypie.tumblr.com/).
> 
> » WARNINGS  
> Past Cas/other (no names mentioned, nothing specific referenced, but he’s openly gay and he has a ‘type’ – he could just be talking about Dean if you prefer to see it that way), past Dean/other (including a relationship referenced in-fic that doesn’t work out). Unless you genuinely don’t have squicks/triggers and want to be surprised, please, PLEASE check the tag box above. The sex scenes are all at the end so you could skip them if they’re not your thing (the fic is basically T-rated up until then). At one point Dean wears a collar with a leash just for fun, and later for sex. Cas calls Dean ‘kitten’ as a joke and Dean likes it. There is a bit early in the fic where they banter about safewords, but the safewords are never needed or used again.

  


“Jingle Bells— _Bass Boosted_.” Dean stared at the active music track on his phone screen. He blinked. “I’m sorry, _what_?”

“Just snazzing it up a little,” Charlie grinned.

“What was wrong with the original ‘Jingle Bells’?” Dean asked, pulling out his earbuds and wrapping the cable around his phone, then cramming his phone back into his jeans’ pocket. “Or the original ‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree’? Thought they were classics.”

Charlie blew a raspberry. “Look, smartass,” she said, shucking a collection of shopping bags further up her forearm as they walked through the mall, “If you don’t like how I _suggest_ you make your playlists – fast, efficient, _easy_ – go back to recording songs on that tape deck you’ve been using since you came out of your mother.”

“Pff, Mom played me Zeppelin in utero.”

Charlie smiled. “That explains _so_ much.”

Dean laughed, butting his friend with the back of his hand. “You can keep your unnecessary trap remixes. If I’m gonna update anything, I’m gonna get me a new phone.”

They came to a slow halt in front of the mall’s cellphone store, with iridescent displays of giant snowflakes in the window, twirling over cellphones with stickers on their fronts to show what their screen display would look like.

“The bass is boosted, Dean, but it’s not about to blow the battery out the back of your phone.”

“You’d be surprised,” Dean uttered, hands in his pockets, wide shoulders almost reaching his ears as he shrugged. “That thing freaks out when I even _think_ about trying to type.”

“Ohhh, _that’s_ why every text you send looks like it was written by a third-grader. I did wonder.”

Dean snorted. “Shuddup.” He stared for a moment longer, then let his shoulders slump. “God, a new phone is such a boring-ass thing to want for Christmas, you know? Dr. Sexy wouldn’t want just a phone. Indiana Jones wouldn’t want just a phone. Maybe it’s crazy, but I wish— Shit, I wish I wanted something else. Adventure! Spectacle! The love of my life! Wanting a phone that can run two apps at once makes me such a basic _dweeb_.”

Charlie gave Dean a sidelong look, soft brown eyes and Christmas-red hair. “Ummm, how about maybe it’s _not_ crazy,” she said. “You came out _yesterday_ , Dean— Think about it. For years all you’ve wanted was to be comfortable and accepted and totally at ease while talking about your interests with your family. You got that now. That was a pretty special thing to want.”

Dean scowled, head down, scuffing his boot toe on the brickwork of the storefront. “Sounds like a thing I should’ve had years ago to me.”

“Yeah.” Charlie took Dean’s hand and squeezed it. “And due to circumstance, you didn’t have it. But wanting a phone now. Puh! After a day like yesterday, I figure you’re allowed to be a _little_ basic. You’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

Dean managed to smile. He glanced away, then chuckled.

Satisfied, Charlie let go of Dean’s hand. “You gonna get something cute for your big gay date later?”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Should I? Like a new outfit? What’s wrong with plaid and jeans?”

“No, I mean like a gift for him. It’s Christmas Eve, and it’s your first date, so... showing up empty-handed... Mm.”

“Hm.”

“Let’s go to Shipper’s, they always have good sales on this time of year.”

“Urrrghh,” Dean complained, following Charlie. “That place smells like girls. And not, like, available girls. I mean—”

“You mean lesbians, high schoolers, and women who are too busy with their six kids or their career to even sniff in your direction.”

“Exactly.”

Charlie grinned and led Dean straight for Shipper’s triple-doored glass entrance, where Santa-hat-wearing greeters were stationed by plastic trees, handing out the same mailer Dean had gotten in his apartment mailbox six times this week. Dean took one, and Charlie took one, and Dean immediately began rolling his, swinging it like a club as they entered the store.

Shipper’s was one of those department stores that was kind of a drugstore, kind of a jewellery store, kind of a makeup store, kind of a travel bag store, and they sold very small shiny things grouped into abstract spaces that faded from one section to the other, so customers were _meant_ to get lost, and forget how to get back out. One of everything was placed artfully on a glowing white block, or an asymmetrical shelf. Dean could not see the end of the building, and his eyesight was fine.

“What do gay guys even like?” Dean asked, as they disappeared into the perfume aisle. “I don’t wanna be the square who gives him his thirteenth bottle of Christian Dior.”

“Hey, maybe he’s running low.” Charlie rolled her eyes. “What do bi guys like?”

“Uhhh. Lingerie and champion wrestling? Playing Zelda. And eating so much I can’t move.”

“Just get him something you’d get for yourself,” Charlie said, leading Dean towards the makeup, because there was something inside her that magnetised in one of four standard directions as soon as she entered a store. Shipper’s didn’t sell video games, movies, or books – except for classy hardback cookbooks – so makeup it would be.

Dean did not care about makeup. But he followed anyway, because being left to wander around alone in _this_ store, looking for a gift for someone he’d never met – well, that sounded like he’d be there until closing time and come out with a stuffed penguin and a hundred-dollar wristwatch because his customer assistant was embarrassingly cute.

Not speaking from experience, or anything. Not at all.

As Charlie perused the discount bin, Dean pulled out his cellphone, holding the tangled earphone cable in his mouth as he texted his date.

[ **Yo, Stefan, im in Shippers, u want somethin for Xmas? Can get it giftwrapped** ]

Dean stood behind Charlie and watched her collect five eyeshadow palettes over her already-laden bags, then ponder, and return every single one to the bin.

Dean’s phone buzzed, and he bent his head to look.

[ **Haha, sure, you cheapskate. Get me ultra thin condoms, XXL ;)** ]

Dean felt his face heating up, and he touched the back of his neck, burning.

He gulped, then replied.

[ **They for tonight, ordered** ]  
[ ***Orrrr** ]  
[ **?** ]

He partly hoped Stefan’s request was for tonight. Dean had never been with a guy and he almost wanted the deed out of the way, so there was no pressure to make it perfect or special or important. But on the other hand, he really fucking _wanted_ his first time with a guy to be perfect and special and important. Because he’d gone thirty-something years knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that he liked men, almost twenty of those years being legal and actively wanting the occasional dude and resisting, and three of those years going out of his mind, too used to how things were to change what he did, and too desperate for change to figure out the best way to go about changing things.

Dean had waited too long to let an opportunity come up and _not_ have it be special. But if he wanted perfection, how much longer would he have to wait?

Stefan texted back, and Dean rushed to read—

[ **That’s for me to know and you to find out, babe ;) I’m just fresh out. Don’t bother gift wrapping, that would be weird.** ]

Dean twisted his lips to the side and slipped his phone back into his pocket, unsure if the swooping feeling in his stomach was relief or disappointment. He knew Stefan wasn’t The One. Stefan knew that. But if Dean wasn’t going to date a guy now he was out and proud, what was the point of coming out?

Well, not having to dodge questions from Uncle Bobby about why Dean had a signed jockstrap framed in his hallway, mostly. That was the point of coming out. And telling other people made him more sure he wasn’t just making it up, as bizarre as that fact was.

“What?” Charlie said.

“What-what?” Dean said back.

“You sighed. Like everything is terrible.”

“Did I? Oh.”

“Well?” Charlie dumped everything back where it came from, and went up to Dean. “You okay?”

Dean shrugged.

“Wanna do something fun?” Charlie asked, pulling Dean by the arm. “Come on, let’s go raid the fancy candy section and get free samples.”

Yeah, that did sound like fun. Dean strode along with renewed purpose, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, hastening from makeup back to perfume to bath bomb sets. They’d just rounded a corner, entering an aisle beneath a canopy of Christmas string lights, when Dean halted in his tracks, hand out to grab Charlie before she took another step.

“Shit,” Dean said, eyes trained on the blue-haired Shipper’s staff member standing halfway down that aisle, stocking a shelf. “Turn around,” he hissed desperately to Charlie, flapping a hand at her. “Turn around!”

“Oh,” the man said, looking up, having heard Dean’s utterance. “It’s you again.”

“Run,” Dean wheezed to Charlie, panicked and thrilled at once. “Save yourself.”

“Dean, what’s the problem?” Charlie asked under her breath.

“This guy, he’s—”

“Hello, and merry Christmas, Shipmates. Can I help you with anything?” the man asked as he approached, looking oh-so-stunning with his mess of tousled-on-top blue hair, perfectly matching the blue of his eyes. Dean noticed his roots had regrown in dark brown since they’d last met, proving – at least in theory – that the guy was actually human and not some kind of person-sized pixie with naturally blue hair.

And, look, let’s just take a moment to freak out, Dean’s brain said. Because there were blue eyes. And then there were _this guy’s_ blue eyes. Nobody really warns people about how overwhelming blue eyes are to look at when one doesn’t expect them. Dean looked people in the eye all the freaking time, and he’d met people with blue eyes, but when the shade of blue seemed to change like a rare seashell in the light, almost turquoise on one side, midnight-blue on the other, with a river’s-edging of summer moon in between – and that wasn’t even _mentioning_ the ring of black around the edge, and the near-black eyebrows above, so elegantly angled and made up in a way that showed how much effort had been put in, but also that he looked like that naturally—?

It was too much. Too fucking much.

Dean was weak at the knees and couldn’t run away if he tried. He’d already embarrassed himself in front of this particular black-shirted employee a few months before, so he wasn’t going to add ‘collapses like a fainting goat when interacting with cute guys’ to the list of things the man knew about him.

Of course, by now, Dean’s brain had cycled through four hundred thoughts about the guy’s blue eyes, and only now registered that Charlie had answered his polite, professional question, told him they were just browsing, and now they were both looking at _Dean_ , expecting him to speak, not gawp like a goldfish. Why were they waiting?

Oh, right. Because Dean had made a noise.

“Buh,” Dean had said, in the tone of ‘how dare you’. He was frowning, offended at what came out of his own mouth. He stopped frowning.

Blue-Eyes looked like he was holding in a laugh, lips wrinkled tight – oh, don’t even get Dean started on his _lips_ – nose just a wriggle away from crinkling across the bridge. His eyes were doing that Tyra Banks thing. Sizing. Smizing? Eye-smiling?

God, Dean wasn’t gay enough for this. He was wholly unprepared. He was a New Queer. Freshly uncloseted. And at the same time, he was so very gay for this guy that he wondered how the hell he’d existed so many years not being entirely sure he was bi. He was definitely bi.

“Yooou— You— You,” Dean said, eloquently. He tensed his jaw and uttered, “You gonna accuse me of shoplifting again this time, or what?”

Blue-Eyes raised his eyebrows. “I wasn’t, no? But,” he added, eyes darting to Charlie, giving her a soft smile, “to be fair,” he looked back to Dean, “last time we met, I do recall you trying to leave the store without paying for your penguin.”

“Pch’eh!” Dean said, ears burning. “ _I_ recall you getting so distracted by my handsomeness that you forgot to ring me up.”

Blue-Eyes lowered his gaze, and Dean smirked, gratified beyond belief that he’d made the guy fluster.

“Umm,” Blue-Eyes smiled, eyes shifting to the side. “Handsomeness. Yes. That was what it was.”

Dean went back to overheating and trying to harness a garden of inner rainbow butterflies. This man dared insinuate that Dean’s attractiveness was not the most disarming thing about him?

Dean stared, and the man stared back.

Without breaking eye contact, Blue-Eyes asked, “May I interest you in a free sample? Perhaps? We have – ah – coupons. And. We can offer you a free massage, or a mm—” He looked away, then back at Dean.

Dean could only imagine that whatever frantic tingles _he_ felt inside him, the other guy felt exactly the same. Forest-green eyes and freckles were probably stunning to this blue-eyed fucker.

“Condoms,” Dean said.

“...Pardon me?” the man said.

“We’re gonna need condoms,” Dean said. “For later. Extra-extra large.”

“Oh. Alright. I— I’ll take your word for it.”

Charlie tittered nervously.

Dean waited for the guy to stop staring, but Blue-Eyes was apparently waiting for Dean to do the same thing.

Six seconds passed.

Six seconds is a long time in real life, as it turned out.

“Castiel,” the man said.

“Gesundheit,” Dean replied.

“Oh, du sprichst du Deutsch?”

“What?”

“That’s a no,” the man said, amused. “Castiel. It’s my name.”

“Oh, dude. Sorry.”

Castiel squinted. “It’s not _that_ bad. I quite like it.”

“No, no, I mean— Deutsch. German. You speak German?”

“Rozprávam po Slovensky, ale rád sa učím.”

Dean’s mouth slowly opened. “Sooo... That’s a yes?”

Castiel laughed, head back, eyes wrinkled. In some other universe, a unicorn pooped out its first rainbow. Dean smiled.

“I speak Slovene,” Castiel said kindly. “But I like to learn.”

This was probably a weird moment to notice, but Dean realised Castiel was standing closer to him than maybe any other adult male had, ever. No wonder Dean had noticed all the sparkles in those anime eyes. They were close enough that Dean could see pores on Castiel’s cheeks and oil on his nose and a tiny nick on his pink lip where he’d nibbled it and it had healed over. Suddenly Dean was aggressively self-conscious about spinach stuck in his teeth, forgetting for the moment that he’d last willingly eaten spinach in eighth grade.

Charlie drew in a quiet breath. “Um... look... If nobody minds... I’m gonna... go... third wheel over there... Bye.”

She tried to leave, but Castiel called after her, “No, stick around! We have comfortable seats set up, I can give you a free makeover if you like? I had an appointment cancellation, I just moved onto stocking shelves and avoiding customers while I waited for my shift to end. There’s a lot of people here this evening but they all seem more interested in fighting over mystery soap baskets than getting made up.”

“You do makeovers?” Dean asked. “Like in a _Queer Eye_ kind of way?”

“Ah, are you a fan?” Castiel asked Dean, eyes brighter. “I love that show.”

“So does Dean,” Charlie smirked at Dean. “Although he’ll pretend he’s indifferent.”

“Dean,” Castiel said.

It took a second, but then Dean realised: that noise was Castiel learning his name.

Dean stung hot all over. Castiel said his name, not only for the first time, but in a way that softened the letters, made them all shiny and sleek when spoken. Dean was at first affronted – who _did_ that to someone’s _name_ —? Then he relaxed, smiling, shoulders slumping. “That’s me,” he said.

“Beautiful name,” Castiel said.

“Ehh, I quite like it,” Dean grinned, cocking his head.

“It means ‘faith’ in Arabic,” Castiel said, touching his hand to Dean’s right upper bicep, drawing him around to face the other way, and Castiel then began to lead Dean and Charlie out from the string-light aisle and back towards another department, walking backwards to continue, “Or more specifically, ‘religion’, or ‘creed’. But – well – sometimes it’s in reference to obedience and submission. Did you know that?”

“III did not,” Dean said, as his ears burned and he forced himself not to react to the words ‘obedience’ or ‘submission’, since Castiel no doubt meant it in the religious way, not the fun way. “That’s kinda awesome. I’m, uh, not what you’d call a ‘believer’, though. Definitely more of an ‘infidel’.” He closed his air quotes, and returned them to his pockets, hands finally relaxed.

“I,” Castiel said, before chuckling to himself. “I am. I am very much a believer. But not in the way people expect, I find.”

“Not to interrupt you two, or anything,” Charlie said, looking around, “but where are we going, exactly?”

Castiel was still walking backwards, very slowly, very close to Dean. “Just a little farther,” Castiel assured Charlie, not breaking eye contact with Dean.

“So what _do_ you believe in?” Dean asked. He didn’t know what to expect, assuming the answer wouldn’t be what he expected.

“Cryptids,” Castiel said.

“Uh... uuh-huh. Like Nessie and aliens?”

“Among other things,” Castiel said, turning away and leading them to a clearing in the centre of the department store maze, with black marble tiles and a raised white block like a stage. Atop the dais were two reclining white armchairs, and side-tables stocked with used makeup palettes and brushes and handheld mirrors.

“Now, who would like to go first? Dean?”

“Whoa,” Dean waved a hand quickly, “No, no. Not for me. Not my thing. Charlie, you wanna...?” Dean bit his lip, looking at Charlie expectantly.

Charlie gave Dean an ‘ugh, okay, for _you_ , so you have time to talk to this blue-haired prettyboy you’re clearly enamoured by, but you owe me, you prick’ sort of look, flat-lipped and sighing as she stepped up to Castiel and sat down in the armchair he offered. (Dean wondered if they spent too much time together, if he understood that much from her expression.)

“So,” Dean put his hands in his pockets as Charlie lay down all her shopping bags, settling back for a makeover. “Cas. What got you into _cryptids_?”

“Haven’t you ever seen _Whacko!_ , the magazine? Magic, myths, and mysteries monthly? I’ve collected it since I was a child.”

Dean lit up inside. “Oh, hey! Yeah! I got a year’s subscription for that for Christmas, way-way-way back. One came with this li’l, uh, what was it—? Little squishy egg thing—”

Castiel _gasped aloud_ , ignoring Charlie entirely to stare at Dean. “Nineteen-ninety-one! Mass-recalled July issue. Do you know how _rare_ those were to receive? Please tell me you kept it.”

Dean grinned awkwardly. “I might... still have it. Moved apartment about six times, but I know I stored the mags somewhere, so...”

Castiel stepped off the dais and into Dean’s personal space. He looked him right in the eyes, and said, “Dean, if you ever find that squishy alien egg,” voice so grumbly that it shook birds from Dean’s inner forest and sent them spiralling into his sky, “you find me – you _hunt me down_ , and you let me see it.”

Dean struggled to breathe. He swallowed. “Okay,” he said, weakly. There was no refusing that voice, or that look.

“If it’s of _any_ interest to either of you,” Charlie said, “I still get that magazine.”

Castiel took a moment to turn from Dean back to Charlie. “Oh, you do?” Castiel turned back to Dean, and beckoned for him to sit in the other empty armchair. “Come on, at least get comfortable, this makeover could take a while.”

“Pff, not insulting at all,” Charlie muttered, smiling.

Castiel laughed with her, starting to pick out skin-coloured bottles, holding them up to her cheeks. “I like taking my time to do things right, that’s all.”

“Paid by the hour?” Dean asked, flumping back into the other chair, kicking a boot over his knee.

“Hardly the point,” Castiel said, eyes a-twinkle.

Dean bit his lip, watching as Castiel cleaned Charlie’s face with a moist towelette, then sprayed her with something misty.

He then dabbed a fingertip’s worth of skin-stuff onto Charlie’s jawline – once, twice, three times, with different shades, eventually deciding that the second option was best. Dean could barely tell the difference between the three colours, but hell, he wasn’t the expert here.

“I’ll do a medium-coverage foundation,” Castiel said, taking that second bottle in his right hand, pumping out some onto the back of his left. “You have _great_ skin, Charlie. The product just makes a good neutral base for what comes next.”

A pink teardrop-shaped sponge went into the gloop on his hand – foundation, Dean supposed – and then, Castiel applied the fluid to the rest of Charlie’s face with a dabbing motion. Dean watched, mildly awed at how the pale shade covered up her winter-red nose and the shadows under her eyes from staying up until four in the morning, playing whatever game she was currently obsessed with.

“You look super freaky,” Dean said to Charlie. “Like an albino bunny-rabbit. You know how they just have their eyes as their only distinct features?”

Charlie tutted. “Such compliment, very sweet.”

“It’ll get better as I go on, I promise,” Castiel assured them both, grinning. His front teeth were so perfectly straight, but Dean caught sight of a little crookedness below. Cute.

Dean remained a captive audience, mesmerised by the process as Castiel began darkening Charlie’s eyebrows with some gel on a fine brush, explaining how he always started there, since getting them to look even was an easy place to go wrong, and it was better to go wrong at the start than when he’d spent forty-five minutes on the makeup already.

“Chicks really do this every day?” Dean uttered, baffled. “Like, get out of bed early?”

“You’re one to talk,” Charlie said, mumbling with her eyes shut as Castiel began shading her eyelids in light brown. “We were meant to come out for four o’clock but mmm, _who_ was still doing their _hair_ at four-thirty?”

Dean scoffed, eyes darting to Castiel to check if he was being judged.

Castiel’s eyes crinkled at the sides, in amusement and understanding. Heck, he probably spent the same amount of time on his own eyebrows, given how good they looked.

“Are you a fan of glitter?” Castiel asked.

Dean answered, “Fuck no,” before realising Castiel was talking to Charlie.

“Herpes of craft supplies, no?” Charlie said, cheekily peering out through one eye.

“It’s the holy grail of makeup supplies,” Castiel said firmly.

“I think Jesus would rather have drunk out of a sippy cup at his last meal than hear you say that,” Dean murmured – suddenly glowing all over when Castiel laughed, hand on his stomach.

Dean went quiet, leaning a bit closer, fascinated by how Castiel applied glitter. “Is that _glue_?”

“Cosmetic adhesive, yes,” Castiel said, pressing a bold berry-red sheen atop Charlie’s eyeballs with a flat brush, somehow maintaining a curved line at the top. “I’ll use something similar for the eyelashes.”

Dean baulked. “ _Eyelashes_? Dude, she’s not gonna be able to open her eyes if you glue them.”

Castiel chuckled, shooting Dean a wink. “Just you wait, you’ll see what I mean.”

Dean sat back, one hand up in both exaltation and surrender. The guy knew what he was doing, Dean would trust him with the eyeball glue.

To be fair, Dean thought, as the minute hand on his hundred-dollar wristwatch ticked around a dozen times, Charlie was starting to look... different. She liked _buying_ makeup, but when she actually put it on for an event, it always looked the same: eyeliner, a single colour on her eyelids, some blush, and a lip colour – probably red. That was her makeup face, and Dean was used to it.

But this? Dean had to tilt his head to remember what she looked like before. She still looked like _her_ , but... this was not the Charlie Bradbury who spent all her weekends in hoodies and skinny jeans, cross-legged on Dean’s couch, blaming the gaming handset’s vibration for the noise when she farted. This was the Charlie Bradbury who wore pleather pants and wedge heels, got off a plane from a fan convention in L.A. and went straight out to a gay club.

It was still Charlie. But the Charlie she’d always tried to be, but found she was genetically incapable of being.

By now Dean was gnawing the side of his knuckle, grinning, desperately looking forward to the moment Charlie saw herself in the mirror.

Dean kept waiting. But Cas kept doing one more thing. One more thing.

Blush.

Something ashy in the hollows of Charlie’s cheeks, up on her forehead, under her jaw, either side of her nose.

Something shiny under her eyes.

Surely he was done now.

Surely.

More glitter.

And then Castiel pulled out a drawer of lip products, offering them all to Charlie.

Dean rolled his eyes and sighed, flopping his head back on the chair.

“Bored?” Castiel asked.

“You’re still _going_ ,” Dean complained at the panels in the ceiling.

“I can think of a fun way to pass the time,” Castiel offered, teasingly. “I really do think you’d enjoy it.”

Dean pursed his lips, eyes drawn to meet Castiel’s. “Mm. Maybe I would, hot stuff.”

“Really?” Castiel seemed surprised. “Okay, good. Natasha— Natasha, quickly, before you clock out—”

Dean looked around, startled to find an incredibly hot, straight-haired, strong-jawed woman come up behind him, looking a bit pissed off.

“Mu lahko daš malo ličila?” Castiel told the woman. “Hvala vam.”

Dean flustered, unsure what he’d agreed to. “Wait, she— You’re not gonna—?” He looked at Castiel.

“Natasha’s very talented,” Castiel told Dean, nodding to his colleague. “She taught me a lot of what I know. Including helping me improve my Slovene. It was my mother tongue but I fell out of practice as I grew up.”

“Sit.” Natasha pushed Dean’s shoulder back, and he sat back. “Do not move.”

Dean breathed a few times, eyes darting to Castiel.

Natasha came at him with a wipe, and Dean shut his eyes, trying not to flinch as she smothered him in wet and cold.

“Pfftth,” Dean said, as the wipe went away.

“Don’t mek that face, it meks you frinkle,” Natasha said.

“O-oh-okay,” Dean said quietly, terrified. He forced his face neutral and his breathing slow, tense in his chair as Natasha did whatever she was doing.

It tickled, but not in a good way, or a way that made Dean feel okay about grinning. It tickled like there was a very big bee on his face and if he twitched or tried to get rid of it, it would sting him in the eye.

This was not fun.

Dean did not want this.

But he let it happen because Cas seemed to think it was a good thing, and that guy knew what was up.

Right?

Stupid stuffed penguin, sitting in the skylight sunbeam in Dean’s bedroom, smiling at him calmingly all the time because he couldn’t bear to give it away as a gift. Stupid accurate waterproof-to-thirty-feet wristwatch. Stupid blue hair and crooked teeth and nostalgic cryptid magazines.

Stupid Dean and his stupid bisexual dick.

“Aaaalmost done,” Dean heard Castiel say to Charlie, so softly, so kindly. “You have such amazing features already, so I hope you think I’ve done them justice.”

Nooo, Dean wanted to see! He tried to open his eyes, but Natasha grabbed his chin and turned him frontways again. “Be still.”

“Are you ready to take a look?” Castiel asked. “Oh, you look wonderful. You’re going to love it, trust me.”

Dean pined so hard for the use of his eyes that his head began to ache.

Charlie gasped. “Oh my God! Oh my _God_!”

Dean tried to lean out of Natasha’s vice-like grip but she grunted and pulled him back. He wanted to kick her in the ankles in self-defence, but resisted. Those almighty god-type cryptids better have been paying attention to that good deed he’d performed, just then.

“Do you like it?” Castiel asked Charlie, his deep voice brimming with childlike hope.

“Oh, I love it. Oh my God. _Shoot_ , I’ve never— Oh my God.”

Castiel made a smug, happy noise. Dean tried to look but only got a blurry flash of red glitter before Natasha attacked him with a brush.

“When Dean’s done we gotta get photos,” Charlie said brightly. “Having a good time, there, Dean?”

“Nh,” Dean grunted, statuesque. By now he knew better than to pull away; it only hurt more.

“Kay,” Natasha said, letting Dean go. “I’m going. My shift’s over.” Dean dared peek out at her, and saw her turn her corvid eyes to Castiel and natter cooly in his direction, “Hočem nadure.”

Castiel nodded, and gazed after the woman as she left in a cloud of sharp perfume and clattering heels.

Finally free, Dean could look at Charlie’s big reveal. He burst out in a grin, delighted by what he saw. He leaned close, utterly thrilled by the _skill_ he saw there. Nothing was out of place, not a fleck of glitter or a wobble in the outer lines of her lips. Her eyeliner spread its wings evenly, taking off from her face. Her lips tilted in a glossed, plump smile, her brown eyes brightened to show off colours Dean had never even noticed before.

“Hoooly shit.” Dean was impressed. “That’s art,” he realised. “This is _art_.” He looked at Castiel in astonishment. Castiel looked back, proud. Back to Charlie, Dean smiled. “You look amazing. Before, and after. But, like, you look awesome right now. Like you could raise the dead and fly a pig, then banish the pig and land the dead safely. Y’know?”

“No,” Charlie smiled.

“Art,” Castiel said, understanding.

Dean sat up straighter. If Charlie looked that good, he himself had to look pretty good too, right? He couldn’t look monstrous, or Charlie would’ve said something. He had to look amazing.

“Can I—?” Dean nodded to the mirror Castiel held.

“Oh? Oh, yes—” Castiel stepped up to Dean, handing over the mirror.

Dean held it up backwards, preparing himself. He’d never seen makeup on himself, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to, but _God_ , if the transformation was anything like what happened to Charlie, he’d be doing it himself every fuckin’ day. At least in private.

Dean twirled the mirror to look.

He blinked.

“What?”

He was confused. It was just his regular face. Did Natasha do anything?

He looked a little closer. Well... there was clearly _something_ covering his freckles. His eyebrows looked unusually full. His lips were looking healthier than before.

But that was it.

“Oh,” he said. “Cool?”

He smiled, desperate not to seem disappointed. “That— Yeah, that’s awesome. Tell, uh. Tell Natasha thanks from me.” He lowered the mirror, a tense smile aching on his cheeks. “Sweet.”

Shit.

After all this, he _wanted_ the glitter and the sparkles and Cas holding his face gently and telling him he had a nice jawline. But all he got was _guy_ makeup. His own face, but better. He wanted the pretty girl thing. And now he couldn’t ask. Like, physically, mentally, could not bring himself to say a word. He sat, and kept his face controlled.

Castiel took the mirror, touching Dean’s hand as he did.

Dean bowed his head, wishing he didn’t feel like crying. He felt rough. Maybe that bee did sting him after all.

“Dean,” Castiel said, softly.

Dean felt a gentle warmth under his jaw, raising his chin.

Sweet blue eyes peered down at him.

“You know, I find it a terrible shame,” Castiel started, “when people with freckles feel the need to cover them up.”

Dean breached his stuck lips with the tip of his tongue. He tasted cherry gloss, too chemical to be tasty.

“Here.” Castiel said it like he was doing Dean’s freckles a favour, not Dean himself. He took a wipe and smoothly wiped Dean’s cheeks. Then over his nose. He held his gaze the whole time.

“Better.”

Dean felt worse. Now Cas thought he didn’t want makeup at all.

Dean took a small, shivering breath, asking, in a tiny voice, “Can I have—?”

He stopped there. Yeah, that sentence was over. Zero more words to add to that. Nope.

“What would you like, Dean?” Castiel asked him. “Tell me.”

Dean’s lashes fluttered, lips parting. He wanted to speak but didn’t know any words. He probably spoke Slovene better than English at this point, given the incomprehensible fluff that was in his brain.

“I-I-I want?”

Castiel tilted his head.

Dean swallowed, his cock thickening at the immediate realisation that Cas felt him swallow, hand on the soft, hollow underside of his jaw; the swell of his windpipe, the click as he relaxed. And he still gazed at him, waiting.

Dean didn’t know what he wanted any more. He just wanted.

He withdrew, head down, shoulders trying to shelter the rest of him from Castiel’s gaze. “Doesn’t matter. Forget it. Look, I’m, uh. Charlie, you ready to go? We should get— And we still haven’t—”

“Wait,” Castiel said. He bent down into Dean’s personal space, an inch away, eyeing him studiously. “Your eyebrows are uneven.”

Dean froze.

“You can’t go until I’ve fixed it,” Castiel said, matter-of-factly, standing tall and going to fetch all the products he used for Charlie. “And I’m doing the foundation again, it’s all patchy now. That formula really doesn’t work for your skin.”

Dean accepted the bullshit, assuming it was bullshit. Whatever reason Cas gave was fine. Dean sighed and raised his hands like Cas was inconveniencing him, but when he approached with a pack of wet wipes and the pink egg sponge, Dean leaned forward, eyes closed softly, anticipating the first touch.

Shit, Cas was _gentle_. Way too gentle for a dude. At least, any dude Dean had ever met.

Maybe Dean never met the right dudes before.

Dean relaxed, smiling, letting Cas kitty-lick his face with a wipe, then apply a cool mist, and begin dabbing. Chin, undereyes, forehead, nose.

“I’m going with light coverage,” Castiel said. “I want to see those spectacular freckles. Clearly you were kissed by a whole horde of angels before you were born, Dean. And for good reason.”

Okay, Dean had needed that. His heart felt lighter now. He smiled easily.

“There are a lot of men,” Castiel explained, “who will try makeup, but only to cover a shadow, or a bruise, dark undereye circles. Then you have your rockstars, with the eyeliner – it’s a good look too, don’t get me wrong. But my favourite, Dean, my favourite thing to do?” Dean heard his grin, and felt the sweep of his angled brush in his brows. “I want to make a man sparkle as brightly as a woman. You should be allowed to be beautiful, as a woman must be allowed – nay, _encouraged_ to be strong. We aren’t one thing, are we? We never are.”

Charlie chuckled. “Natasha had other ideas?”

“Sheee... well,” Castiel smiled. “She _is_ one thing: brusque. But she’s enjoyable once you get to know her.”

“Yeah, right,” Dean said, as his bee sting was soothed.

“There are plenty of people we misjudge,” Castiel said, starting to curl the tip of a fluffy brush in circles deeply into Dean’s eye socket. “One might imagine, for example, that a man with a flushed face and a flustered manner, trying to leave the store with a very large plush penguin and a wristwatch tucked behind it, is trying to steal the watch.”

Dean blushed, and he wondered if Cas would feel the heat in his face.

“But,” Castiel continued, “you might also imagine that a Shipper’s employee is very unused to having one man follow them around for two hours, actually listening to the scripted sales pitch they’ve never once had cause to use, because everyone already knows what they want. And said employee might, for instance, be flustered by the previously-mentioned man’s flustering, and be too shaken to remember the rest of the job. Like making him pay for things with money.”

Charlie snorted.

Dean peeked out at Castiel. “Maybe I did misjudge. You’re way more awkward than I thought.”

“Ditto,” Castiel said, deadpan.

Dean laughed, tipping his chin down. “Yeeah,” he sighed. “That’s fair.”

“Shut your eyes again?”

Dean did as he was told. Castiel painted his face, stroked his thumb on his cheeks sometimes, fluffed his hair out of the way. Dean felt tingles in his scalp when Cas did that. He loved having his hair played with.

“Let me look at you? Open your eyes again.”

Dean did.

Castiel gazed at him. Left eye. Right eye. Looking into his soul, maybe; studying the colours of his irises, more likely. Even so... That eye contact? Shit. Dean’s breath started going short. He glanced to Castiel’s lips, once, twice, growing hot in his leather jacket, mouth dry, lips pouting, secretly ready for a kiss.

It took him a while, but as his hand slid over his lap to cling to his opposite thigh, he realised he was growing aroused. From what?! From looking deeply into someone’s eyes?

From looking deeply into _Castiel’s_ eyes.

Cas didn’t look at Charlie this carefully, okay. Dean had been paying attention.

“Green,” Castiel decided.

“Took you that long to figure it out?” Dean scoffed, turning his head to hide his blush, before remembering the foundation would probably save him.

“I want to make your green eyes stand out, yes, but you have a warm-to-neutral undertone, paled by winter, and purple’s going to look like you’ve been in a fight, black is too heavy for your features, grey or silver would wash you out, gold would be too pale compared to the clothes you’re wearing now, brown... mm, I wondered about brown, but I think – unless I’m wrong, correct me if I am – you wanted something more... exciting? than brown.”

Castiel paused, his hand on a little pot of green glitter. He watched Dean, waiting for a response.

Dean tried not to give one.

“And really,” Castiel said to fill the silence, “all that leaves is – green. Or blue. Well, there’s pink, but you—” Castiel froze, seeing a fast flash of Dean’s eyes. “Pink?”

Dean stopped breathing.

“I can do pink,” Castiel said, a lovely smile just hugging every word he said. “Like I said before, Dean. We make wrong assumptions far too often.” He put the green back and returned with a pink, halfway between blush and magenta. Dean squirmed internally when he realised he’d thought of the words ‘blush’ and ‘magenta’.

“You want this?” Castiel asked, showing Dean the glitter, cap open to reveal the gleaming pink circle trapped between his fingertips. He tilted the tub one way, then the other, letting it shine. Dean was embarrassingly mesmerised, lips parting with desire. Must’ve been a magpie in another life.

Castiel merely chuckled. “Close your eyes again.”

Dean did.

He trusted Cas not to stick his eyes shut, as he applied glue.

Dean heard the faint bleep-blooping sound of Charlie playing an old-school Snake app on her cellphone. At least she had something to do.

“What are your plans for later tonight?” Castiel asked. “I probably should have asked beforehand, apologies.”

“Nah— Naw, it’s good,” Dean murmured, soft-lipped as Cas tilted his head, and Dean followed his guidance. “I’ve, uh, actually got a date later, at eleven. First-ever date with a guy.”

“Oh, yes?” Castiel sounded amused.

“Dean came out to his family yesterday,” Charlie said to the phone in her lap. “So he’s coming out to everyone now. The guy at the pretzel stand thought Dean called _him_ bisexual. The Target checkout lady thought he had a bicycle he wanted to return and told him to line up at the next checkout down.”

“Congratulations,” Castiel smiled, putting away the glitter, and reaching for an eyeliner brush. “I myself never had the sort of family I needed to come out to – they all just knew – so I can only guess at what that kind of pressure feels like. But it must’ve been nerve-wracking.”

Dean let out a breath of a laugh. “Not scary exactly, just, uhhh. Real embarrassing.”

“He worked up to it so damn hard they thought he was gonna tell them he voted for Trump or he’s moving to Canada, or both.”

“Actually, they were kinda relieved,” Dean smiled. “When it wasn’t either of those things.”

“Sam, though,” Charlie laughed.

“Oh, shit,” Dean grinned, head tilted up as Castiel painted a cool stripe more slowly on his left eye, to match the right. “Sammy – my younger brother – he was like, okay, Dean, you like guys, but is that why you leave stubble scrapings in the bathroom sink? You like stubble _that_ much?”

Castiel laughed quietly, not as amused as Charlie, but appreciating the concept.

“He was just real supportive, honestly,” Dean said. “Couldn’t ask for a better brother. Uncle Bobby, though!” Dean smiled, opening his still-drying eye just enough to see Castiel. “That old-man pat on the back and forced smile basically made my life.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Castiel grinned. “Now hush for a moment, I need to concentrate...”

“Okay,” he added a couple minutes later, wafting a hand in Dean’s face to give him a cool breeze to dry his sticky-feeling eyes. “Fake lashes, done! Waterproof mascara, done! You can open your eyes for a moment, I’ll move onto blush and contour.”

“Oh, like the Kardashian makeup thing?” Dean asked. “Contour?”

“The very same.”

“Are you gonna make me look like a drag queen, or, like—?” Dean rolled a tense shoulder.

“Or like what?” Castiel asked, curious.

“Like a—?” Wet lipped, Dean shrugged again. “Like a girl?”

This time, Castiel waited a moment to study Dean’s expression, figuring out what he wanted before asking, carefully, “What is the difference to you?”

Dean held his own hand, insecure about giving the wrong answer. “Drag queens are like, over the top, right? Stage makeup. But there’s pretty glitter and contour makeup, and then on the other hand, there’s _drag_ makeup, so...”

Castiel tilted his head.

Dean’s heart fluttered. “Just make me pretty, would you, jackass?”

Castiel gave a broad grin. “I can do that. ‘Pretty’.”

Dean very pointedly did not look in Charlie’s direction. She still played her game, but she could probably play that game by echolocation by now, so who was to say she wasn’t staring at him in disgust?

No...

It was _Charlie_. She’d be smiling.

Dean glanced at her, and she was.

He relaxed.

God, being _out_ was so much easier. And harder at the same time. Now, rather than walking past things he liked, he had the option. There were a lot of options, as it turned out. Life was gonna be very different.

“So this date,” Castiel said, as he blended the contour up to Dean’s ears and almost down to his mouth, “is he attractive?”

Dean pursed his lips. “Mmm, so-so,” he said. “Kinda on the plain side of hot, maybe, but he clearly knows how to style himself, and I’m kind of into that.”

“Oh, yes?”

“Yeah. Maybe more than I thought I’d be, actually. Heh. Me and him, we – kind of hit it off. I dunno where it’s going right now, honestly. But, uh. I figure I should give it a go, right? Jump in the deep end. That’s what the condoms are for.”

“Aha.”

“Yeah, I’m... not sayin’ it’s a guaranteed thing, gettin’ lucky tonight. But I’d be up for it. Y’know. If he asked.” Dean peered up at Castiel through his lashes, watching him concentrate on shaping Dean’s jawbone. “Extra- _extra_ -large condoms.”

Castiel smirked, applying the fake eyelashes now their glue was tacky. “You or him?”

Dean winked and didn’t answer.

Castiel bit his lower lip, just the right amount of embarrassed to be cute.

“Uhm, I’m— I’m going to— Your lips, now,” Castiel stammered, touching them with his thumb. Dean felt his lower lip plucked as Cas let his hand fall. “Do you want your lips to be your more outstanding feature, or your eyes?”

Dean wasn’t sure. “Depends,” he said, watching Castiel watch him. “Which do you think’s better? Eyes or lips?”

“Hm...” Castiel examined both, letting his eyes linger on Dean’s mouth. Dean subtly licked his lips wet so he had more to look at. Almost hoarse, Castiel breathed, “Kiss.” Then he straightened, as if electrified; he hastily corrected, “Lips. Lips, I said—” He covered his mouth with his hand, then let it fall, exhaling. “Um. You have. Amazing lips. And your eyes as well, so. I think I can balance both—?”

He turned to rummage, clattering and clacking with both hands in the lipstick drawer. He turned his face away, maybe to reset.

Dean was thrilled. He loved this. So much.

God, he was so fucking _glad_ he was bi. What a waste it would be to _not_ enjoy making Castiel so flustered.

“Smile for me? Just... like this.” Castiel demonstrated a flat smile so his lips stretched out. Dean did the same.

Castiel began painting his mouth with a brush, slowly, carefully, with expert precision. While Cas concentrated, Dean let his gaze wander to Castiel’s lips. He wasn’t wearing makeup, presumably besides the eyebrows, but his lips were still plush with pigmentation, the exact shade of blush that Dean imagined when he thought of ‘blush pink’.

“This lipstick is a good one,” Castiel said as he finished off, thumbing the side of Dean’s mouth to neaten the line. “Long wearing, and kissproof.”

“Aw,” Dean complained. “But kissing’s the best bit.”

“No, no,” Castiel chuckled. “Kissproof won’t _prevent_ kissing, it means this lipstick is not coming off until you tell it to. So,” Castiel grinned a little cheekily, bending down into Dean’s personal space and catching his eyes, “you can put your lips on whoever or whatever you like tonight, and that colour is staying put.”

Dean only had a split-second between when his eyes lowered to Castiel’s lips, and when his own lips touched them.

He’d shut his eyes, he’d laid a hand on Castiel’s stubbly jaw, he’d leaned in, and he’d _kissed_ him. Smooched, open-mouthed, breathing out through his nose, his mouth closing over the taste of cranberries and the prickly texture of a shoe-polish brush.

There was an uncertain moment, when Dean wasn’t sure what was happening next.

But then Cas kissed him back, hand on Dean’s jaw, lifting his chin to apply more kindness and beauty right where he wanted it most.

They kissed, and their noses touched.

They kissed, and Dean’s heart pounded and his skin seared. They kissed, and Charlie stared.

Dean let go with a huff of leftover breath, eyes glazed by delight, lips singing, hands prickling with pins and needles. His heart was still pounding.

“Uh-huh,” Dean said, breathless. He nodded. “Kissproof.”

Castiel touched the back of his hand to his own lips, not to check for lipstick, but to dry his lips of saliva. He was halfway black-eyed now, but after a few blinks, he controlled his arousal and he was all blue again.

Dean kissed a guy. Dean kissed a guy. _Dean kissed a guy_.

Maybe pound was all his heart could do, now. It was gonna be stuck doing that for a while.

“M-my,” Castiel stammered, fighting to regain composure. “My shift here ends at ten-thirty,” he said. “If you stay nearby I can meet you for eleven. I’ll have about an hour for whatever you like before my shift starts at my next job.”

There were so many promises in his eyes, but Dean wasn’t quite getting it. Castiel returned to the makeup, closing Dean’s eyes and spraying him with another mist.

“Um,” Dean said, as Castiel wafted an entire magazine his way.

“Yeah, _um_.” Charlie said. “Did I miss something here? What happened to Stefan?”

“Who’s Stefan?” Castiel asked.

Charlie narrowed her eyes at Dean, as Dean glanced over, sheepish. “Dean’s _date_.”

“Who—” Castiel lowered the magazine. His face had fallen.

“What? Yeah, the guy—? We met on Tinder. It’s our first time out—” Dean looked confusedly between Charlie and Castiel. “What, what’d I do?”

“I’m not your date?” Castiel asked, his voice growing smaller with every word.

Dean looked at him, perplexion shattering to shock, then pity, then _regret_ , and then suddenly reforming back to confusion. “Dude, when did you get the idea _you_ were my date? Besides the obvious, I mean.”

“ _Besides_ the obvious?” Charlie uttered, bugging her eyes and turning away in her seat.

“Extra-extra-large,” Castiel said. “I thought that was code for saying you were a medium.”

“A medi— What?”

“A medium. A soothsayer. A – a – psychic. Someone with the power of foresight. You said we were going to need condoms for later. I thought you meant—”

“For you and me?!”

Castiel turned his face down and away in shame.

“Okay,” Dean said, sitting forward, knees apart, elbows on his thighs, circling his palms together as he pondered fiercely. “Now I get what you mean. About believing in stuff people don’t expect.”

“People usually... say they have... a bigger penis than they do...” Castiel said quietly.

Dean placed his palm on his forehead, ready to rub away the ache, but stopped in case he ruined Cas’ hard work. “God, this is screwed up.”

“It’s okay,” Castiel said softly, putting away the products he’d used, leaving out the sponges and brushes, presumably for later cleaning. “I understand now. You were just teasing me.”

“Wh... No... No, Cas, I wasn’t...” Dean stood up, taking Cas gently by his elbows, where soft black cotton was rolled up tightly under his thumbs. “I—?” Dean tilted his head, apologies in his eyes as he met Castiel’s. “I’m sorry. I was just real excited about finally being out, and being able to flirt, and – and you were rolling with it, and it felt good— Felt _awesome_ ,” Dean corrected, with a shy huff. “Like, fuckin’ amazing, dude.” He smiled calmly, meeting Castiel’s gaze, then sighing. “But seriously, man, _where_ – in what _universe_ – does a near-stranger come up to you while you’re working, and when they tell you they need to buy condoms, and you assume they mean they’re a psychic and you’re gonna want to roll in the hay later that same night?”

“Bar called ‘Coven’, on fifth,” Charlie piped up from her seat, while beating her own high score.

Castiel hung his head. “We make odd assumptions, don’t we?”

Dean sagged, shoulders lowering. Shit, he wanted to kiss the guy again, this time because that was the only way Dean could think of to make him stop looking so sad.

So he did it. Soft kiss, just on the lips. Chaste as anything.

“Hey,” Dean said, shaking him gently, once, by the elbows. “If you’re lucky, my date sucks, and you’ve still got time before your next shift. What kind of job starts your shift at midnight, anyway?”

Castiel tipped his head, easing out of Dean’s personal space, taking his fresh-laundry scent with him. “I do seasonal work for Santa Claus.”

Dean smiled. “Of course you do.” He grinned, stepping back. “You’re a little nuts, aren’t you?”

“You’re a little emotionally oblivious,” Castiel retorted, but his expression softened. “But you’re also very kind and you clearly mean well enough.”

Dean clicked his cheek, shooting a single finger gun in Castiel’s direction.

“Look, um,” Dean set his head down, scouring the white dais under his snow-dirty boots, observing that Castiel wore glossy black pull-on boots to avoid the dirty snow problem. “Cas?”

“Yes?”

Dean wet his lips. “I’mma give you my number. Y’know, just in case...”

Hope glistened in Castiel’s eyes.

“In case I find that squishy alien egg,” Dean finished.

“Oh.” Even after being so excited about it before, Castiel looked dull-eyed on the subject now. “Okay, yes. I’d appreciate that. I think it might still be alive, they do tend to hibernate for extended periods.”

Dean let his mouth fall open, then slowly close. “Right.”

“I’ll, um.” Castiel cleared his throat. “Condoms are sold by the checkouts, you’ll have to ask for Patrice to unlock the cabinet.”

“Gotcha.” Dean patted around, but couldn’t find a pen. His eyes lighted upon an eyeliner pencil, and grabbed it, then grabbed Castiel’s arm. Castiel let his hand be held, warm and soft and strong, as Dean wrote his cellphone number in inch-tall glyphs up his forearm.

Castiel’s arm was all red now. Dean winced, then poked the pencil with his fingertip. Oof, that was a sharp, hard one. “Sorry,” he uttered.

“I enjoy being caused immense pain, clearly,” Castiel said, eyebrows up, eyes lowered, his mouth twitching into a sarcastic smile.

“Mm, you and me both.” Dean nibbled his lower lip, grinning. “My safeword is ‘Impala’.”

Castiel squinted. “Mine is ‘please stop’.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean’s eyebrows jumped. “Bet all _your_ passwords are real easy to guess.”

“All my passwords are the alphabet, backwards, until I hit the character limit.”

Dean frowned. “So. You read cryptid magazines. Conspiracy theories. You probably think the government is spying on us—”

“—To be fair, they literally _are_ —”

“And you’re just. Telling me your password.”

“Dean, that was what one might call a _joke_ ,” Castiel deadpanned, eyes half-closed as he stared at Dean carelessly. “You’re worse than I am.”

“Just two peas in a pod, eh?” Dean said.

“Birds of a feather,” Castiel added.

“Useless gays at a makeup counter,” Charlie volunteered. She looked up. “What?”

Dean and Castiel both levelled a glare at her, unimpressed. She grinned back.

“You should go,” Castiel said, smiling now, lifting Dean’s wrist to look at his wristwatch. “It’s ten-forty, your date starts at eleven.”

“I thought your shift ended at ten-thirty,” Dean said, as Charlie gathered her bags. “You’re not off yet?”

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Castiel said. “Ten-thirty means eleven. Eleven-fifteen, even.”

“Hope you get paid overtime.”

“Natasha said the same thing when she left,” Castiel smiled. He waved Dean and Charlie off. “Have a nice date, Dean. Good luck.”

“You don’t mean it.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “I hope it goes well enough that you emerge unhurt and untraumatised, but badly enough that you regret not cancelling it for me.”

“You’re kind of a little shit, Cas, you know that?”

“Extra-extra large, actually,” Castiel said. He winked. “Bye, Dean. And Charlie. Thank you for coming. Merry Christmas, Shipmates.”

Dean left with Charlie, feeling amazing. He even said as they bought expensive chocolate, “I feel amazing.”

“You look pretty good, too,” Charlie agreed.

Dean tried to catch sight of himself in reflective surfaces, but all he saw was a distorted sliver of pink and slightly more light-dark contrast than usual. He couldn’t believe Cas was so distracting that Dean had forgotten to look in the mirror after a _makeover_.

Guess that was a thing with them. Forgetting to do obvious things.

At least Dean remembered to pay this time. And he got the condoms. Extra-extra large.

And a box of medium, too.

Y’know. Just in case.

He and Charlie exited the mall through the little-known back exit, pushing the bars on the fire doors, stepping down into the shockingly cold night. There were three slippery stone steps, and there was the staff car park, probably packed as densely as the customer one. The darkness had grown cloying in the time Dean and Charlie had been inside, and now it snuck under eyelids, and curled down throats, and Dean had to huff out a hard, hot breath to check he hadn’t gone blind. The faintest of blues shone before him.

Charlie turned her phone’s flashlight on, but Dean left his off, as his battery never lasted long.

“Are you sure you’re okay to walk?” Dean asked, holding Charlie’s arm. “I can cancel with Stefan, I’d rather you got home safe.”

“And have you miss your first gay date? Please.” Charlie waved her lit cellphone in the air like a semaphore signal, and suddenly – blam – golden beams came pouring across the snow, making Dean realise how thickly it was snowing, and that Charlie had ordered a ride home.

“Text me when Stefan picks you up,” Charlie said, kissing Dean’s cheek. “And again when he gets you home.”

“Same for you.”

Charlie was about to step off into the snow, but Dean snatched her coat arm and pulled her back. He raised his own phone over their faces, tucked his chin to Charlie’s shoulder, and whispered, “Smile.”

Charlie beamed. Dean grinned, so happy.

He looked at the photo he’d taken, and saw himself in makeup for the first time.

His breath caught, his heart skipping a beat.

He put his hand over his face and shut his eyes, feeling things he’d never felt. Swirling, jumpy, sparkly feelings inside him. Happiness, and awe, and shock, and a funny kind of pleasure, almost sexual but more like... like he’d always wanted to see that. Like he’d always been waiting. That perfect point, that perfect _medium_ between masculine and feminine. And seeing it suit his face so well, glittering in pretty pink, it was perfect.

He sniffed, lips shaking. He nodded, letting Charlie hug him.

“You’re beautiful,” Charlie whispered to him. “Inside and out.”

“Thank you,” Dean said, meaning for the day spent together, but let Charlie accept it for the words she’d said.

“I mean it.”

Charlie kissed his cheek, then stepped into the dark. She waved to her wife, and Gilda waved back from the car, opening the passenger door.

Charlie left in the car, and Dean sat on the steps, where there was no snow. He looked at the photo, loving it deeply.

He decided to send it to Stefan, so at least he’d know what to expect when he got here.

[ **Wearin something special 2nite!** ]

He gulped, and hit send. He still smiled.

He checked the time. Ten-fifty-five. Stefan was probably on his way to pick Dean up now. This was the place they’d agreed to meet, and Dean was going to stay here until he was collected. He wondered if he should’ve brought a snack, and considered eating the chocolate he’d bought for Stefan, but decided he wasn’t that greedy.

His phone buzzed, and he opened his new message.

[ **Lol, is that a Snapchat filter?** ]

Dean replied, [ **Nah, all me, man ;-D** ]

Stefan took a while to reply. Four whole minutes.

[ **Lol, no offence, but I’m not really into that? Cool pic though. Maybe wash it off before I get there, haha. ETA 5 minutes.** ]

Dean’s heart sank. He shifted in place, considering getting up to wash in the mall bathroom. But – fuck no?

Fuck. No.

Dean clenched his teeth and shook his head, grasping his phone to text back.

[ **Haha, date’s off, asshole. Lol ;)** ]

Dean hit send and snorted, proud of himself. But then he realised the sarcasm probably didn’t come across, so texted again.

[ **Like, turn around and go home. I have better people to spend my time with. See you never, dickwad** ]

Stefan replied in a minute flat.

[ **Fuck off tranny, you were probably a shit lay anyway** ]

Dean’s heart shot through the ground and out the other side of the Earth, picking up flaming-hot lava on the way. “Oh, fuck you. Fuck. _You_ ,” Dean said to his phone, jabbing the screen with his thumbs, fire in his eyes.

He typed and typed and typed and his thumbs caught fire and his body blazed with the heat of a thousand suns, his teeth turned to fangs and he chewed off every limb Stefan had, torched his bones and set flame to everything he held dear—

But Dean couldn’t hit send, because he’d burst into tears.

He held his hands over his eyes and wept, quietly, hurt, too hurt, too hurt.

He sniffed and tried not to cry, because he didn’t want to make the mascara run. Cas said it was waterproof, but Dean’s tears were moonlit tracks of pure heartache, not water. Dean patted his fake eyelashes back in place, making sure the magic glue wasn’t unsticking. Cas was good at glue.

Dean stared in despair at his phone as the screen went dark and the conversation was swallowed by the void.

Why did people like that exist? Who made them that way?

Why couldn’t Dean just have a good night, a good first date with a good first guy, and have it be special and beautiful and important? That was all he wanted.

All he wanted was—

The fire door swept open, and Dean yelped as he was hit in the ass.

“Oh, damn,” said a familiar voice. “They didn’t turn the floodlights on.”

The door closed again, and Dean was alone once more.

He was startled; light bloomed from the parking lot, gold and silver beaming out across the snow, piles of white atop cars, layers of it on the ground. Charlie’s footprints were halfway-filled in as the snow had settled, but it had since ceased falling, and the sky was now a static black.

The door opened again, and Dean stood up this time so he couldn’t be hit.

Castiel looked satisfied. “Ah. Better.”

He looked at Dean, and his smile softened. “What happened.”

Dean wet his lips, shaking his head. He showed Cas his phone in his limp hand, then shook his head again.

Castiel went up to him, stepping into the snow with a crunch, warm hands curling around Dean’s cold ones.

“Let me see.”

Dean turned the screen on and let him see.

Castiel did not react with anger, only sadness. So much sadness that his eyes welled with tears and his mouth turned down at the corners, shaking, and he welcomed Dean into his arms, touching his hair, stroking his back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Me too,” Dean whispered back, as his heartbeat registered as physical pain.

“I’m dropping you at home,” Castiel said. “No arguments.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” Dean said, closing out of the text conversation and pocketing his phone. He quickly unpocketed it, muttering, “One sec,” and texted Charlie.

[ **Stefan is cancelled 4ever, going home w Cas** ]

He bristled hot, and quickly amended, [ **To my place not his** ]

And then again, [ **I mean he’s just dropping me there, probably not goin in** ]

[ **Actually idk maybe he might** ]

[ **Will keep u updated** ]

He put his phone in his pocket, and sighed, forcing up a smile.

“You all right?” Castiel asked, taking Dean’s hand.

“No,” Dean admitted. “But,” he swung their joined hands, “not everything sucks.”

“Come on,” Castiel said, letting go of Dean, instead leading him down the aisles of parked cars. “Let’s get you home.”

“It’s past eleven, you got time before your next job?”

“Do you live nearby?”

“Twenty minutes away.”

“Yeah, I have time.”

“Awesome.”

Dean walked by Castiel, past pickup trucks with their chassis full of snow, past sedans, and electric cars, and a yellow Mini Cooper.

And then they came to something unusual, too big and tall and boxy to be anything but a hearse.

But it wasn’t a hearse.

“Don’t tell me,” Dean said, framing the view of the sleigh’s back end with his hands. “Part of your seasonal work for Santa.”

Castiel stopped in his tracks, fiddling with car keys. “You can see it?”

“See what? This fuckin’ thing? Uh, yeah, Cas, it’s like two of my Impalas stacked on top of each other. And man, I’d have my Baby to show you, but I didn’t wanna take her out in the snow. She gets itchy.”

Castiel was still staring at Dean. “You... see a sleigh.”

“You make it sound like I should see something else.”

“Most people see a Lincoln Continental,” Castiel said. “Golden.”

Dean let a cloud drift out of him, slowly. “Okay. That’s... weird. That’s _weird_.”

He turned to look at the sleigh again. It was parked facing a bush, and as Dean watched, the bush whipped rightwards and shook, like it was _pinged_.

Dean tilted his head, trying to see around the six-foot chassis.

“Zām,” Castiel called to the front of the sleigh. “You’re going to have to back up, we’re parked in on both sides. Careful not to scratch the other cars.”

There came a snort. Like a horse.

Dean expected a horse.

A smart horse, maybe, because it knew to back up, and the sleigh beeped like a fucking truck.

A big horse, probably, because the sleigh was ten feet long, not including the seating and the axel at the front.

But?

Not a horse.

“That.” Dean said, pointing weakly from his middle at the beast reversing the sleigh. “That’s a.”

“Thank you, Zām,” Castiel said, giving the thing an apple from his trenchcoat pocket. “Zām, this is Dean. Please don’t trample him, I’m growing quite fond of him.”

Zām gave Dean a thoughtful look, as if wondering whether it _ought_ to trample him anyway, just on principle.

Dean was frozen in place. “Cas, that’s a moose. You know that’s a _moose_ , right? A seven-foot moose? With two-foot antlers?”

“Yes, Dean; I just gave him an apple.”

Dean wound his pointing finger into a fist, and let his fist bob vaguely up and down in front of his stomach. “Okay. Okay, that’s a moose. That’s a moose, and that’s a sleigh, and you work for Santa.”

“Only seasonally,” Castiel said. “It does pay quite well, though.”

“I’m... sure it does.”

“Anyway,” Castiel said, putting a foot up into the sleigh, stepping up – two feet up – and then turning to offer Dean a hand. “Are you coming?”

Dean was having a really weird night.

And, as he took Castiel’s hand... he had a feeling it was about to get much weirder.

  
**⁂**  



	2. Chapter 2

There were many things that Dean could’ve noticed first, upon being hauled up into a sleigh by a blue-haired mall employee, just after eleven p.m. on Christmas Eve.

Like the fact there were a hundred stacked gift boxes in the back of the sleigh, fitted neatly like Tetris blocks, despite their wildly different sizes and shapes. Like the fact that somehow, for unknown reasons, the snow had not done so much as dampened the red leather seats in the two-seater section Castiel pulled Dean into. Like the music player installed on the sleigh, just below the front barrier, where the radio would be on a car. Heck, like Castiel’s big strong hands and big strong heaving shoulders.

Nope.

Not noticing those things immediately did not make Dean any less observant, only more. Because upon setting his feet into the totally dry, carpeted footwell of Castiel’s sleigh, Dean first noticed something so bizarre and distracting that, quite frankly, for that moment in time, nothing else mattered.

“Your hair,” Dean said. He pointed faintly at Castiel’s head. “It’s blue.”

“Yes, Dean, it has been blue for some time,” Castiel said, as he sat down.

“No-no-no, it-it – its—?” Dean pointed with his hand closer, then sank his fingers into Castiel’s warm locks, breaking the gel, stroking through like a comb. “It’s blue to the roots now. And Cas, it’s – glittery. It’s glittering. There’s— There’s sparkles.”

Indeed, Castiel’s hair was gently twinkling, with four-pointed stars which seemed out of place in real life, like they came right out of a Disney animation and stuck themselves into Castiel’s hair.

Castiel smiled softly. “May I borrow your phone?”

Dean fretted, still staring at Castiel’s hair. “What? Um. Sure. Be warned, it’s a piece of crap.” He handed it over without looking, screen unlocked. He sat down after, still staring.

Castiel held up the phone between them, and Dean assumed he was taking a selfie – but then Dean flinched, blinking away the light of the flash, burned onto his retinas.

“Look,” Castiel said, showing Dean the photo.

There was a photo of Dean, his expression pleasantly daunted. And there, up above his painted face, his usually brown hair sparkled in a gloriously natural-looking shade of pink.

Dean was dumbfounded.

“It’s the sleigh’s magical field,” Castiel explained. “I have to re-dye my roots every so often, the colour grows out after Christmas Day. I probably should’ve warned you.”

“Warned me.”

“That your hair was about to be permanently recoloured.” Castiel pressed a sorry smile between his lips. “It does suit you, though. Pink.”

Dean put his phone away. “I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”

“You can believe you are,” Castiel suggested. “That would save me a lot of paperwork. Letting you on board is really against protocol, even if you _can_ see the sleigh.”

He took hold of the moose’s long reins, and clacked them like for a horse. “Walk on, Zām. Let’s take Dean home.”

The sleigh began to move. It slid so smoothly, so softly, Dean could only imagine they were floating. He peered over the side of the sleigh, watching the white glide past in a rush.

They turned into the street, and carried on towards the main road.

“What’s your address?” Castiel asked.

“Sixty-five, Mercury Drive,” Dean muttered, looking out ahead, watching the moose’s furry butt bob-bob-bob as the beast trotted along.

Castiel took the first right, pulling the reins to guide the moose.

There were five other cars idling at the crossroads as they approached. Streetlights and headlights and traffic lights gave the snow a bronzed, rainbow hue, though it was mushy, and criss-crossed with tracks. People went on as they usually did, on the night of Christmas Eve. Nobody saw the moose.

“Cas,” Dean said, sitting up straight. “There, that car, opposite side of the lights— That’s Stefan.” He pointed to a red pickup truck with a lowered suspension, and cringed. “Ugh. Looked better in the photos.”

“You can see his face from here?” Castiel asked.

“What? No, I mean the car.” Dean scowled at the pickup as the lights changed and the moose went forward again, apparently savvy to the intricacies of the road code. “God, if I had my own sleigh and giant moose, I’d mow the guy down.”

Castiel shot Dean a fast glance, then looked back to the road and smirked. “Zām,” he said softly. “Red pickup truck. Don’t be too obvious.”

Trotting across the centre of the crossing, the sleigh changed lanes. Dean grabbed the golden bar in front of him as there were no seatbelts, and the road was knobbly with road salt here. As Stefan waited for his turn to drive with both hands on the wheel, Dean’s heart raced, approaching, approaching—

The sleigh slammed _hard_ into the side of Stefan’s truck, then scraped along it as it passed, drawing out a teeth-gritting _screeee-e-e-eeeeee-ee-eeeeeee-eee_.

The moment they left the truck behind, Dean turned back to look, laughing as Stefan opened his window to look at the damage, his expression one of horror.

“Run!” Castiel laughed, clacking Zām’s reins. Zām jumped into a full gallop.

“How’s that taste, dickwad?” Dean yelled back into the night, as Stefan looked around, seeing only the exhaust fumes from a golden Lincoln Continental, already disappearing into the night.

Zām sped down the road, spraying snow from his hooves and the brass tracks of the sleigh; they rushed, the icy breeze sitting like a mask of numbness over Dean’s grin.

“I’m dreaming,” Dean whispered to himself, as they ran through the town, from streetlight to streetlight, past houses with colourful trees in the windows, and a gas station with a blow-up Santa on its concrete-raised lawn. “I’m dreaming, I gotta be.”

“Would you like me to slap you?” Castiel asked.

Dean looked at him. “Wet dream, maybe.”

Castiel chuckled. “Perhaps I should ask – are you a first-born son?”

Curious, Dean answered, “Yeah?”

“Ah.” Castiel nodded like everything made sense now. “You must have some history with the fairy realms.”

“Fairy r—” Dean threw up his hands and shook his head, grinning. “Whatever, I’ll roll with the crazy. Tell me _all_ about the fairy realms, Cas.”

“The only people who can see fairies, or their creations, are those who met them as children. And for whatever reason, it’s more common with women and girls. But with men, once boys—”

“First-born sons,” Dean finished, a distant thought stirring in his mind. “What do fairies look like?”

“There’s thousands of parallel fairy realms,” Castiel said. “Their inhabitants could look like anything from giants to monsters to aliens. Most of the cryptids humans know, love, and fear, tend to simply be a fairy realm native, displaced or consciously migrating.”

Dean’s lower lip bobbed, hands curling on his lap.

He remembered an eerie yellow glow through his bedroom curtain, back in Lawrence; he remembered his whole body lifting weightless from his bed until his sheets fell away, thick summer heat gushing under his lower back. He remembered a steel room. He remembered their shiny bug eyes, he always remembered their eyes. Maybe that was why he noticed people’s eyes first, wanting to know what they were.

“Dean?” Castiel turned to look at Dean, sensing his unrest. “Dean, are you all right?”

“Aliens,” Dean said, finally, eyes down. “When I was eight.”

Castiel muttered in numbers for a while, then sighed. “Ninety-ninety-one. The squishy alien egg. They reclaimed it.”

Dean sat in silence for a while, feeling really fucking weird.

“Did they hurt you?” Castiel asked quietly.

“No.”

“Good.”

Dean swallowed, watching street corners pass, hazy as his mind was occupied. They were almost home.

“Cas,” Dean said. “I’m... not dreaming, am I?”

Castiel let out a little breath. “Ahh. So much for no paperwork.”

Dean took that as a yes.

“Enjoy it,” Castiel said, reaching to pet Dean’s hand, just once. “Take it in, Dean, make it worth it.”

Dean sat up and did as he was told. It wasn’t hard to do. He smiled quickly, and grinned soon after, and laughed not too long after that. He whooped to the heavens, hands raised to let the winter’s breath gush between his fingers, bracing under his arms. He let himself sparkle, and shine in the light of the rising moon.

For tonight, just tonight, Dean was fantastic. He’d always wanted to be.

Zām turned into Mercury Drive, trotting, slowing down as Castiel counted out the house numbers.

Sixty-one, sixty-three... sixty-five.

There was Dean’s place; a little white-brick apartment on top of three others. There was moss growing up the sides, and pretty lights ashine in every window but one.

“Top floor,” Dean muttered, when Castiel looked curious. “I don’t really celebrate. Infidel, as I said.”

That made Cas look _sad_. Dean turned away, hopping out of the sleigh and crunching into fresh snow, a half-inch deeper than at the mall.

He ran his hand back through his hair, wondering.

“You’re no longer sparkling,” Castiel told him. “But your hair is still pink.”

Dean’s shoulders sank. He pulled out his phone, offering a confident smirk to Castiel. “Mind if I snap a few photos? Sam’s never gonna believe this.”

“And he still won’t,” Castiel murmured, as Dean collected images of the moose, the sleigh, and Castiel.

“Awesome, thanks,” Dean said, trying to keep his smile. He put his phone away, hands in his pockets. “Sooo... I guess I just go inside now? Go... home. Drink some beer, watch something on Netflix?”

“I suppose, yes,” Castiel said from his seat in the sleigh. “If that’s what you like to do.”

“And I... I’m gonna look out the window,” Dean went on, imagining and thinking at once. “And there’ll probably be nothin’ out here, no tracks, no moose prints. And my place is gonna be dark and there’s no Christmas lights, no tree. No gift from Santa.”

Castiel remained quiet, watching Dean’s enthusiasm sink as he spoke.

“And Charlie’s at her place with her wife. And Sam’s out of state.” Dean’s breath shuddered hot over his lips, eyes falling to examine the snow. “And I’m gonna wake up tomorrow morning and...”

He couldn’t find words to finish the sentence. What would become of tomorrow? He couldn’t imagine who he’d be, tomorrow, when he was still so unsure who he was meant to be, now. He was a new Dean. He was out and proud. And he knew things about the world he’d never known before.

Dean looked up into his dark window, all the way at the top of the building.

That was the old Dean.

Dean turned back to Castiel. “Take me with you. Wherever you’re going, whatever you’re doing, I gotta— Cas, I gotta come with you. I can’t go back. I can’t.” He shook his head. “Everything’s different now, I can’t let you go without—” His breath caught, his eyes pleading, his heart tight with desperation. “Please.”

Castiel sat with the moonlight casting a silver halo over his blue head, looking at Dean below.

“Please,” Dean said again, one hand resting on the sleigh.

Castiel bowed his head, swallowing, letting go of a long, long breath as he shut his eyes. “It’s against the rules,” he said. “Only designated sleighmates are allowed to fly alongside the driver.”

“Is scratching someone’s car against the rules, too?” Dean asked.

Castiel wet his lips, hesitant to answer. Dean grinned, seeing the answer on his face.

Dean climbed into the sleigh, plonking himself in his still-warm seat. “Howdy, sleighmate,” Dean winked at Castiel.

Castiel sighed again, smiling this time. There was a certain kind of affection in his eyes, and Dean’s heart soared upon seeing it.

“Fine,” Castiel said, turning to the road. “Fine, I’ll just have to fill out a _lot_ of paperwork.”

“Awesome,” Dean said, giddy. He slapped his knees, ready for whatever came next.

Wait...

“Did you say... ‘fly’? Does this thing fly?” Dean waited, wide-eyed, for the answer.

Castiel gave Dean a sly look. He bent forward, taking a boxy metal walkie-talkie from a hook by the music player, pressing a button on the side. He put on a forthright, newscaster sort of voice, and said, “Sleigh four-four-two, Castiel Pomočnik, checking in and standing by for flight clearance, over.”

There came a few seconds of silence, where Dean only heard the wind kicking up snowflakes along the street, and Zām chewing at his metal bit.

Then the LCD screen on the dashboard of the sleigh lit up in red, and out came a perfectly normal-sounding woman’s voice: “ _Sleigh four-four-two checked in and cleared for takeoff. Time is eleven-forty-seven, you have a few minutes’ leeway, but there’s some turbulence between you and Seattle so you might need it. Stick to the flight plan, the storms tend to weaken the sleigh’s invisibility fields so if you get knocked out of it, you might be seen. Over._ ”

“Acknowledged.”

“ _Welcome to the winter skies, Castiel. Merry Christmas._ ”

“And a Merry Christmas to you too,” Castiel replied. He hung up the walkie-talkie, then adjusted a knob by the screen to start playing some music. Out came the slow croon of a brass band.

“Fly,” Dean said, still shaken by the word. No wings, no engines, no safety belts, no roof, no doors on either side. But, hey, there was a designated flight plan. With a storm in the middle. “Awesome.”

Castiel had that sly look on his face again. “Still sure about this?” he asked.

Dean shook his head, slack-jawed.

“Want to get out?”

Dean shook his head again.

“In that case,” Castiel said, facing the road, rotating his wrists twice outwards to wrap the reins securely around his hands, “hold on tight.”

They pulled into the road. Mercury Drive was a long road, an empty road, a white road.

A road with a brick building at the end.

“Cas, don’t you think...” Dean started, as they aligned parallel with the roadsides and began trotting, “maybe we should head the other way...” as they trotted faster, faster, speeding to a canter, Zām throwing down his giant hooves and shaking the ground, thumping the road every time, sending snow spewing up onto the sidewalks and against the parked cars, “‘cause there’s a good run up, y’know, _that_ way, the other way—”

They were at a full gallop now, the sleigh whistling along, the moose with his head down, cutting the air with his antlers. Castiel gripped the reins as well as the gold barrier before him, boots planted firmly on the carpet.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” Dean muttered to himself, hands numbing as he gripped the barrier, wanting to close his eyes against the icy rush of air but letting them water instead, too terrified and too thrilled to miss even a single second of this – pounding the snow, passing house after house after house, so fast they began to blur, the end of the road coming up sharpish, growing from an inch to a half-foot in a matter of seconds, and this was _it_ , this was how Dean was gonna die, smacked into a brick wall by a moose that looked like a car—

In the last moments of Dean’s life, he shut his eyes, quietly thinking to himself... well, at least a Lincoln Continental was better thing to die in than a red pickup truck with a lowered suspension.

He felt a swoop in his stomach, and he marvelled at how soft death was, when it came so suddenly.

He pried open one eye, expecting a bright light.

But he saw darkness. Blue, pretty darkness.

Speckled with stars.

Dean looked to his right, and exhaled. There was Castiel, grinning, driving his sleigh straight into the sky. The world was sideways. The moose was running on air.

Dean passed out.

  
**⁂**  


Castiel smiled, seeing Dean stir. “Hello, Dean,” he said, turning his eyes back to the night sky. He could see the clouds brewing up ahead, moon-grey pillows on a velvet blue bedspread.

Dean inhaled through his nose, blinking, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “Mmh? Wha’ss. Whass goin’ on?”

“Ah, well?” Castiel peered over the front of the sleigh to see the lights dotted below. “We’re not in Seattle yet, but we’re not too far away. I think we’re flying over the suburbs. I’m glad you woke up now, or you’d have missed the storm.”

Dean seemed to let the words drift past him, not fully comprehending. “You got anythin’ to eat? ‘m hungry.”

Castiel nudged the box under his seat, booting it closer to Dean. “Cookies. And milk. I made a few stops while you were out. You snored a little.”

Dean looked in the box, finding five open, sloshing glasses of milk, all different sizes and shapes, and a collection of cookies, equally diverse. He stared for a while, then picked out a chocolate chip one Castiel had been saving for the end of the night.

Castiel smiled, saying nothing, just glad Dean could fit the whole thing in his mouth, instantly relaxing when it was gone.

Dean then went for another cookie, and then two little ones, eating them all at once.

“You know what I want?” Dean said, chewing and sitting back, brushing crumbs off his face and onto his chest. “A burger. Not just any burger, the burger they made in this little barbeque diner back in my hometown when I was a kid. Whenever I’m hungry, I start craving that.”

“Have you ever gone back there?” Castiel asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Dean scoffed. “Never worth the trip, though. I dunno what they did, they changed the recipe or somethin’. New management. Fuck knows. But it’s never been as good.”

“Hm. That’s a pity.” Castiel steered the sleigh a little rightwards, heading straight for the looming clouds. He checked to see what Dean thought, only to see Dean scrolling his phone screen. “I see you got over the novelty of flying a sleigh with a moose very quickly,” Castiel said, both amused and disappointed.

“ _Oh_ -ho, trust me, Cas,” Dean said, docking his phone into the player at the front, “I’m freaking the _fuck_ out. Just know from experience that when someone else is driving, it’s safer to do all the screaming internally rather than out loud.”

“I see.”

“I dunno if you subscribe to my in-car rule of ‘driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole’,” Dean said, “buuuut...” He turned Castiel’s brass band music off, and fiddled with dials and buttons until he played a file from his phone.

_Rockin’ around – the Christmas tree, at the Christmas party hop—_

“Oh, I love this one,” Castiel smiled.

“Give it a minute,” Dean said, rather withdrawn. “Swear to God, if this phone could hold more than a hundred megabytes of music, you would be listening to Led Zeppelin, not whatever crap this is. Blame Charlie.”

“ _Rockin' around – the Christmas tree; let the Christmas spirit ring... Later we'll have some pumpkin pie, and we'll do some caa-arolling,_ ” Castiel sang, brightly, leaning towards Dean and singing to him, wanting him to join in.

Dean rolled his eyes, resting his elbow on the side of the sleigh, hand on his cheek. “Wait for it...”

“ _You will get a sentimental feeling, when you hear,_ ” Castiel sang in complaint, frowning at Dean, urging him to sing.

Dean sighed, and joined in, lethargic, “ _Voices singing, let's be jolly! Deck! The halls! With boughs of hoo-o-lly—_ ”

Castiel paused with his mouth open, as instead of the next lyrics, a deep, garbled, ugly noise came rumbling out of the speakers, vibrating the sleigh seats. It sounded like a violin having a very bad day indeed. Castiel wondered if the music player was broken.

“What is that?” he asked, squinting.

“That, my friend,” Dean said, with a sweep of his finger, “is _dubstep_.”

Castiel squinted some more.

Then he pursed his lips, smiled, and looked back out at the thickening clouds. “I like it.”

“You what?”

“It has a sense of urgency and drama,” Castiel decided. “Somewhat feral.”

“Sounds like two rabid hellhounds going at it in a broken elevator on a fast, one-way trip to the ground, Cas.”

“Yes?” Castiel looked at Dean curiously. “Does that not excite you?”

Dean kept his mouth open for a while. Then he grinned, rolled his eyes to the side, and leaned to turn the noise up.

_Rockin' around – gruguggumgumgumuummmhh—_   
_Nyyyooommm umuuhhuuuumbmbmmm_   
_Nyep nyep nyep nyepumnhuhnhuhnhuhnhu bbburrrrrrrrrrrrrr vwoop etty vwoop etty vwoop—_   
_Rockin' around—_

It went on.

“Are you sure that thing’s safe?” Dean asked, eyeing the approaching storm. Small flashes of light burst from one side, then the other. “Aren’t we gonna get electrocuted?”

“It is a possibility, yes,” Castiel said. “Would you like a hat?”

“Would the hat keep me alive?”

“No, but I find them quite comforting.”

“I’ll go without, thanks,” Dean said. There was a tiny note of hysteria in his voice now.

“Dean, are you scared?” Castiel asked, as the bass dropped a fifth time. “I’ve done this before, I know how to get us out the other side.”

Dean didn’t need to answer; they both knew he was petrified. His knuckles were going white and shining in the moonlight as he gripped the barrier in front of him.

“Te— Tell me,” Dean stammered, “about how you started this. This job.”

“Ah, I signed up through _Whacko!_ magazine,” Castiel said, watching Dean rather than the storm. “Christmas cryptid issue. There was an advertisement for a job, it offered an opportunity for humanitarian work, air travel, and working with animals. No experience necessary.”

“And. Like. Actual Santa.”

“I’ve never met Santa,” Castiel admitted. “Have you ever met the CEO of the company you work at?”

“I work in tech support,” Dean whispered, his voice going thin, eyes wide. His jaw was stiff, but he moved his lips, “We’re gonna die, aren’t we?”

“We’re not going to die,” Castiel smiled. “At least not tonight, not if I can help it.” He reached to hold Dean’s icy hand. “It’ll be okay, Dean. Storms are pretty fun.”

“Uh-huh. If you say so.”

They were coming up on a wall of thunder, now; Castiel could hear the droning and the electrical currents interfering with the music’s bassline. The song was fading out, nearing its end.

The humidity of the storm touched Castiel’s cheeks; Dean shut his eyes.

Castiel held Dean’s hand tighter as the temperature dropped another ten degrees. The music ended, and the silence overwhelmed.

They floated in, starry night eaten by the storm.

The world became grey and thick, and droplets began to stick to Castiel’s skin, snowflakes caught between ice and water.

For a while, Castiel could not see Dean, and only felt the faint warmth of his hand. He could not see Zām, only heard the soft jingling of the bells on his reins.

Castiel heard Dean’s slow exhale, soft and breathy. In the blind greyness of the ice cloud, Dean turned his hand over and held Castiel’s instead of the barrier.

_Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way..._

A familiar song began to play from the sleigh’s dashboard, following on from the last. A soothing male voice sung with the simple cheer of old music, old people, sweaters and fireplaces. Castiel listened.

_Oh, what fun, it is to ride, in a one-horse open sleigh..._

Another thundercrack came tumbling forth, louder than ever before. Castiel wished he could cover his ears but his hands were tied around the reins and secured in Dean’s hands.

The wind began, lifting at first. Some of the grey blew away and Castiel could at last see the spires of Zām’s antlers, his great body riding in slow-motion gallops through the dense air.

_Jingle bells... jingle bells..._

Castiel turned to see Dean, and saw his fear had given way to awe. Childish, open-mouthed awe, bright-eyed, a smile of gratification. This was a man thrust into an adventure he’d asked for all his life. Dean looked to Castiel, unable to say anything aloud, but expressing volumes with his eyes.

Like a stuck record, the music played only the words, _Jingle bells... Jingle bells..._

Dean sucked in a tiny breath, wanting to speak – but then came a heaving gust of iced air, catching the sleigh by its belly and lifting it fifty feet at once; Dean yelled, grabbing the barrier; Castiel turned his attention to the driving.

The music repeated a single note, over and over and over and then—

“Take us through!” Castiel bellowed to Zām, as a thunderbolt slammed the sky.

The sleigh plummeted; the music bottomed out to heavy bass beat. Dean and Castiel and their sleigh dipped through the clouds, lit from every side by a flash.

They hit turbulence halfway down, and began to bounce on the clouds, from wispy vapour to fluff as dense as rubber. Zām threw back his head and galloped on, but was hit in the side and from underneath by punches of air, beaten between zones of black to harbours of grey while a drum beat, thick in the ears and under Castiel’s hands.

Dean laughed, eyes wild; they fell again, and he almost flew from his seat, but kept hold of Castiel and slid back into place as they hit another bump.

Thumping, thumping; they leapt through the storm, fighting snow unfallen, caught in a photograph flash of forked devil lightning.

The music hit a plateau without bass, and in echoes, Castiel heard the lyrics return. _Oh, what fun, it is to ride, in a one-horse open sleigh—_

Eyes open wide, Castiel looked up, and shook Dean’s hand to make him look too. In the white light of a half-dozen firebolts, the storm lit up from the inside, and through the veils of grey, they saw the projected silhouettes of other sleighs, pulled by other beasts.

Castiel saw an elephant throw up its trunk against a savannah storm; he saw an ostrich with its long neck and pom-pom body, hurrying through the desert winds. He saw a tiger leaping in long bounds through a rain-blitzed jungle, pulling a smaller sleigh, and he saw Dean reach for it with his empty hand, joy in his eyes.

They fell through the sky once more, hurtling at unknowable speed, as the storm moved in every direction around them, shouting into their ears and screaming white in their eyes. The thunder drowned out the bassline of the music but Castiel heard them harmonise, just for a moment.

And then it all went wrong. The sleigh hit a portside updraft and soared right over, and Castiel swung out, holding only onto the reins, attached only to his moose, not his sleigh. Dean floated upside down, off his seat for a moment, not yet taken by gravity, but then fell with Castiel, holding his hand, swaying free into a cloud.

They went on, flying fast, Zām steered off course by Castiel and Dean’s full weight on his jaw.

“Hold on, Dean!” Castiel shouted down, as they were swept through a mist that left them both white with snowflakes. “Don’t let go!”

“You got me, right?” Dean called back, smiling. “You promised we’re not gonna die.”

Castiel smiled a tense smile. “I did promise. But—”

Dean’s expression shattered. He realised the magic did not extend to falling out of their sleigh. They could die from falling. And they might very well do so.

“Don’t let go,” Castiel said again.

Dean nodded once, firm-jawed. He held tighter.

Still the music played, beating as hard as Castiel’s terror-struck heart.

“Zām, we need to roll over,” Castiel called up. “Zām!”

Zām heard, but was too busy fighting the strain of having two full-grown humans hanging from his teeth. He tried to yank his head up, but the whole sleigh was falling, as the moose couldn’t keep them elevated, steer, and pull them to safety at the same time.

“We trained for this,” Castiel begged, eyes set on his beloved steed. “We practised, remember? We can roll over. You can do it, Zām. You’re strong enough.”

Zām cried, a heart-wrenching bleat of pain and fear. He was overwhelmed, and not the music nor the thunder nor the icy, angry storm were helping.

“We can crash land?” Dean called up, both hands around Castiel’s. “Please... Cas— I... I can’t hold on...”

“Hold on!” Castiel shouted down in anguish. “Don’t you dare let go of me, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes were tight with dread. “I can’t...” Castiel could feel him shaking. The strain on his shoulders had to be unbearable. Castiel’s eyes watered, caught in the middle of two endangered friends, so desperately hanging onto him.

“Zām!” Castiel shouted up. “You _must_ roll!”

Zām brayed, all of them hurtling right and down, spiralling to Earth. The base of the massive storm was denser, and the air was harder to breathe. Castiel looked up and saw Zām being lost to the mist. He looked down and saw Dean’s frightened eyes, locked to his, praying for salvation. And then he saw nothing, only black.

Felt only cold and pain.

Silence came, a breath held between thundercracks, a darkness between lightning strikes. Everything seemed to slow.

“Zām,” Castiel whispered. “Roll! Now!”

His voice was lost to the storm, eaten by the clouds in his mouth.

“ROLL!”

He felt nothing change, only falling, and falling— Dean’s hand was slipping—

“Zām, please, you’re the only one who can save us—”

Dean let go.

“ROOOOOOLLLLL!”

Castiel let go.

He fell.

He felt shards of ice on his skin, blue fear inside his ribs, heard only the pulse of his blood in his ears.

One white burst of lightning lit up the suffocating world. Castiel spun as he fell, and in that split-second of light, he saw Zām roll, long legs over antlers, the sleigh twisting on its axis to follow the moose as he flew downward. And as Castiel spun, he saw his other side: there was Dean, falling with his hand reaching out, still holding Castiel in his mind. He never let go. He’d only lost his grip.

Gloom obscured Castiel’s vision once more, but he heard a drumbeat come up behind him, under him, pulsing, pulsing, then lost to silence.

He kept falling.

_Oh, what fun, it is to ride, in a one-horse open sleigh—_

Castiel hit the seat of the sleigh, taken right into Dean’s arms, held secure. Dean had the reins in his hand, a grin on his face, snow in his glittering pink hair. Castiel looked out ahead and saw Zām buck high, braying and shaking his jingling reins at his great success.

Castiel let out a fast, shocked breath, and kissed Dean, both hands in his hair, hot breath gushing against his frozen cheek.

Dean looked stunned when Castiel pulled back. He smiled lopsidedly, then handed Castiel back the reins.

Castiel took them. He turned back to the flight path ahead, cocked his head quickly, in a ‘well, that was that’ sort of way, and guided Zām out the other side of the storm.

Dean sat back, fearless now they’d been through the worst. He looked down upon the snow-capped city roofs, only a hundred feet below, and then glanced at Castiel, questioning.

Castiel nodded. “Seattle. We made it.”

Judging by the look in Dean’s eyes, of all the unbelievable things he’d seen tonight, it was clear: this one, he believed. He smiled, and sighed in relief.

  
**⁂**  


“Okay, Cas? Quick question,” Dean said, as Castiel guided the sleigh to land on a snow-covered road between two skyscrapers.

“Yes?” Castiel asked back, as the sleigh bumped down to the ground, and Zām carried on galloping, slowing down as he went.

“Uh.” Dean looked around at the blacked-out city, seeing a few lit windows here and there. “No offence, but doesn’t Santa usually, like, drop down the chimney? Why are we landing on the ground?”

“Look around and tell me honestly whether you think a single one of these apartments or offices has a fireplace,” Castiel said flatly.

“Well, no, I get that, but—?”

“I go in through the front door,” Castiel said, guiding Zām to a halt beside a bike rack. “Every apartment has a front door. Now,” he added, releasing the reins, then glancing back into the huge collection of boxes. “I’m going to deliver some of these, will you be okay by yourself? Zām will keep you comp—”

“Oh, hell no, are you kidding me?” Dean popped up the collar of his leather jacket, looking defiant. “I’m tagging along at your _job_ , Cas, at least make me useful.”

Castiel let out a breath along with a smile. “In that case, Dean, pick a box and follow me.”

Castiel picked up two boxes of his own, one under each arm. They were big ones, but Dean chose four little ones, then reached for a fifth, scooting it atop the pile, pinned down by his chin. He watched Castiel, waiting for instructions.

“Come on.” Castiel stepped to the edge of the sleigh and jumped down into the snow, ankle-deep. He heard Dean make a noise of complaint as he landed in the snow on the other side of the sleigh.

Meeting up on the sidewalk – Dean almost tripping over the invisible edge – Castiel led the way to a sliding glass door. Of course, it was powered down and locked for the night, so Castiel pulled out his car keys and aimed the at the door. One press of a button, and they blee-bleeped, and slid open, letting snow slump inside onto the marble.

“Should I be asking questions?” Dean asked, as they crossed the Christmas-decorated foyer, heading for the elevators. “Is this magic or science?”

“What is magic but science you can’t explain?” Castiel countered, waiting for the elevator. The doors pinged open, and he went in. Dean followed, still gripping his pile of gifts with his chin.

“How do you know where you’re going?” Dean asked. “How do you know where to deliver gifts? How do you know which gift is for who, if they don’t have labels?”

“When you enter a maze, do you know where you’re going?” Castiel asked back. “Do you plan every turn you take, or do you take whichever turn seems right in the moment, trusting the limits of the situation, and trusting yourself and your instincts, knowing that eventually you’ll find the middle, and every path you took was, ultimately, the right one?”

Dean went quiet for a while.

The elevator doors opened, and Castiel went out first, Dean behind.

Castiel went up to an apartment door, pondered for a moment, then walked through the door. He emerged on the other side, and looked back to see the portal healing over. He smiled when he heard the muffled yelps of Dean freaking out.

“Just walk forwards, Dean,” Castiel called in a stage whisper, not wanting to wake anyone up.

“ _I’m not— Cas, it doesn’t work like that, I’m not— You’re magic, I’m just—_ ”

“You are magic,” Castiel insisted. “Everyone is.”

“ _Cas, I can’t..._ ”

Castiel sighed, reaching back through the door with one hand, watching his arm vanish through white wood, pink ripples folding out around his trenchcoat sleeve.

Dean hesitated for a good number of seconds, but then he took Castiel’s hand and let himself be pulled through. He emerged with a screwed-up face and hunching shoulders, but then peeked out, and relaxed, letting go of a breath.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Castiel asked, wondering how a full-grown man could be this hopelessly cute.

“Nuh-uh,” Dean said, looking around at the apartment. There was a tiny kitchen by the door, and a hallway with wooden bookshelves against the walls. A plush green plant was suspended by the far window, and snow was piled up against the pane. There were handcrafted children’s toys on the rug, and Castiel stepped around them, careful not to touch anything.

“Put a couple of boxes down,” Castiel said, placing one of his own under the Christmas tree. “There’s two children and a very harried mother, I think she ought to have a little something too.”

Dean put the one from the top of his pile down – wrapped in blue with a silver bow – then took a few seconds to decide which box should be the second one. He chose a similar-looking gift, with red paper and a gold bow.

“You’re a natural,” Castiel remarked, genuinely pleased. “I thought I’d have to correct you.”

“Again,” Dean said, “how do you know it’s the right one?”

“How did _you_ know?” Castiel asked.

Dean looked unsure, but when Castiel kept waiting for an answer, he said, gingerly, “These two look like they cost about the same, if they were bought in a store. And there’s, like... wooden toys around, maybe whoever lives here is into that whole ‘minimalism’ vibe, so the dinosaur wrapping would look kinda gross in here. I dunno.” He shrugged. “It just fit the space.”

Castiel smiled, quietly proud. “Well done.”

“Hey, did I do it right?” Dean asked, as Castiel turned to leave. “Is that it, are we done?”

“Yes, you did; and yes, we are done in this particular apartment.”

Castiel left the apartment, turning to wait for Dean. This time, Dean emerged through the closed door alone, still with his face crinkled, but looking pleased with himself when he saw he’d come out by Castiel in the dark hallway.

“Next apartment,” Castiel said. “You choose.”

Dean fretted. “Is it random?”

“ _Is_ it?” Castiel quirked up an eyebrow.

Dean sighed. “I feel like this could get real frustrating, real fast, Cas. How do you know you’re not hitting an apartment that another one of you Santa-sleigh people already delivered to? How do you know which ones were missed? Does _everyone_ get a gift? Is it only God-fearing Christians, given it’s _Christ_ mas? Is it non-believers, given it’s Santa and not Jesus dropping by?”

“All good questions,” Castiel said.

“And the answers are...?”

“Above my pay grade.”

Dean snorted. “And you never asked?”

“I know the answers,” Castiel replied, turning to walk down the hall back to the elevator. “I guess what they are, and then they’re correct.”

“You must’ve been one hell of a straight-A student, Cas.”

“I heard the word ‘hell’ used in reference to my studying methods, yes.”

Dean stood in the elevator, shaking his head, sighing slowly at the ceiling. “I should be dreaming, but I’m not. Dreams make so much more sense.”

“Do you feel better when things make sense?” Castiel asked.

“I work in tech support,” Dean said, watching the glowing numbers on the elevator panel count down from seven to five.

“I don’t see how that answers the question.”

“And how d’you like them apples, huh, Cas?” Dean grinned. He glanced at Cas, then back to the glowing numbers – and his hand shot out, stopping the elevator on level two.

“Why did we stop?” Castiel asked.

Dean stared at the panel. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want to get out?” Castiel asked, as the doors opened.

“Yes.” Dean got out.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Dean stood in a dark hallway identical to the last one, holding his three remaining gifts.

“What are we doing, Dean?”

Dean just breathed, thinking. Then he decided, “Follow me.”

Castiel did.

Dean found a door at the end of the hallway, this one unpainted, brown, scratched up. He looked at it for a while, then stepped through. Castiel went in after him.

This wasn’t an apartment; it was a broom closet. It housed a child-sized air mattress with a bearded man sleeping soundly under a tarpaulin, curled up, wearing a boiler suit; fairy lights glowed gold, strung on every wooden beam and panel around the tiny room. There were pencil-scribble drawings of fairies pinned to the walls, and Castiel wondered if they were drawn by the man himself, or by his daughter.

Dean shouldered Castiel gently, soft-eyed. He nosed towards Castiel’s big gift, and Castiel nodded, putting the gift down on the drawing desk, which was piled up with books and little tchotchkes – bits of pipe, a metal cup, a butterknife, an alarm clock.

“Okay,” Dean whispered, taking one more look. “Let’s go.”

The man stirred, and he opened his eyes; it was too late to leave unseen.

But he said nothing. He looked at Castiel, at his blue hair, then at Dean, with his makeup and his pink hair, and he closed his eyes, smiling in contentment. He rolled over and went back to sleep.

Dean let out a tense breath and fled, Castiel two steps behind.

Dean waited halfway down the hallway, breathing hard, remaining gifts dropped on the floor, both hands on his stomach. He folded forward, gasping for air.

“It’s all right,” Castiel said, touching Dean’s hair. “It’s okay, Dean.”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know— I just— Instinct—”

“It’s natural,” Castiel reminded him. “Everyone has it. It takes most people a lot of training to be able to pay attention to it, but you seem to do it already.”

“Always,” Dean breathed, leaning into Castiel’s touch, straightening up a bit to look at him, jaw tense, expression grim, eyes sorrowful and somehow wise. “As a kid I’d know when Sammy needed something. I’d wake up from the deepest sleep if he stubbed his toe in the night. I’d rush home from school, not knowing why, and I’d find out Sam came home sick an hour before. We call each other at the exact same moment and both our lines are engaged. But – it’s just my brother, though. Or— Or this injured rabbit, we found in a park, once, I heard a snuffle and kept rummaging until I found it.” His eyes glazed over as he thought back. “Or... this old woman... Or... that kid, she couldn’t find her mom... Or...”

Dean went quiet, standing tall again. He looked shaken.

“Natural,” Castiel said again.

Dean gulped.

“You want to help people feel better,” Castiel told him, softly. “You want to help them feel good, and safe, and you want to ease their troubles, going out of your way to help them, no matter the cost to yourself. Yes, you want adventures, Dean, and you want spectacle, but you resisted chasing them for your whole life, having decided that those things are better off residing in books or movies, or _Whacko!_ magazine, where they can be enjoyed only in the few moments when nobody else needs you. You find more value in pleasing others than pleasing yourself. You seek to want nothing, but find yourself hurting when despite everything, Dean, you want something. Something simple. Something that seems basic, a basic need, a basic necessity. And you want that simple thing, Dean, because it’s the only thing you can allow yourself to want openly, without broadcasting to others that you are far more complicated than you make yourself out to be. You cannot show others how badly you want something else, something for yourself, because they know you as a simple man, who wants for nothing but to love them and take care of them. And to break that veil would be to break their trust.”

Dean went on staring, ghostly shock in his eyes, freezing his expression.

“Before you ask,” Castiel went on, speaking lowly, eyes on Dean’s parted lips, “I know this about you partly because of well-honed instinct. But also because that was my own story.”

He met Dean’s eyes now, unsurprised to see him tearing up.

How different it was, Castiel thought, to _be_ something, and to go about your life being that thing, than to see someone else do the exact same thing, and think it odd, or self-detrimental. Sometimes, to fix things, the best mirror to look into did not have your own face, but someone else’s.

“Let’s go,” Castiel said. “We have just under a hundred more gifts to deliver. And—” He took Dean’s hand, lifting his arm to check the watch Castiel had sold him. “Six hours to do it in.”

“Only six?”

“We work under cover of darkness,” Castiel said, as they returned to the elevator and prepared to descend. “Yes, only people who saw us as children are able to see us, but we find the fewer people see us, the fewer people end up ridiculed for telling others what they saw. It’s sad, but for whatever reason, the respect people generally have for differing religious beliefs does not extend to the discussion of a non-denominational Santa Claus.”

“You underestimate how disrespectful people are about religion,” Dean muttered.

Castiel gave a terse smile, exiting the elevator. He and Dean strode back to the exit, and the automatic doors opened wide, letting them back to the street. Zām lifted his head, grumbling in greeting.

Castiel locked the doors, and they got back into the sleigh – Dean first, preoccupied with his thoughts, and Castiel second, once he’d fed Zām another apple and given him a hug.

“Cas?” Dean asked, as Castiel clicked the reins and got Zām to walk on. “Can I ask...?” He hesitated, then asked, “What is it you want? The complicated thing. The thing you can’t let anyone know you want.”

Castiel kept his eyes on the road. “Who are you?” he asked.

“What?”

“Are you someone?”

“What?”

Castiel looked at Dean. “If I can’t let _anyone_ know, and you are someone, then I cannot tell you.”

“I’m nobody,” Dean promised.

Castiel watched him for a while longer, then looked back at the road. He said nothing, because Dean was wrong. But the hurtful part was that he really believed it. Dean thought he was... nobody.

  
**⁂**  


In the third apartment, Dean walked through a door, and Castiel tried to follow, only for Dean to yelp, “Dude! A little privacy!”

So Castiel waited outside while Dean peed and washed his hands.

They went from apartment to apartment to apartment, then back to the sleigh to stock up on gifts. Dean asked why Cas didn’t have a shopping cart or something, and Castiel said he didn’t know. He thought that was a very good idea, and he said so aloud. Dean asked a lot of questions about how the boxes worked, and how Santa’s workers were paid, and they were all very thoughtful, empathetic questions. The ones Castiel didn’t know the answer to were the best ones, as he wondered too.

By four in the morning, Dean was yawning a lot, and dragging his feet, but remained careful in choosing which gifts to put down. He seemed to become more and more bothered as they made their way downtown, lingering for longer over the giftwrap, putting boxes down, picking them back up, then sighing and putting them down again.

Castiel sat back in the sleigh, taking the reins. He glanced at Dean and asked, “What’s wrong?”

Dean shook his head like there was nothing wrong, but then unstuck his jaw, admitting, “This is real depressing, Cas. Don’t you think it’s depressing?”

“Which part?”

“Look around us.” Dean spread his arms, gesturing at the squat apartments, the alleyways full of trash, the snow heaped up against the boarded-up store windows. “This place is awful.”

“Many people call this place home, Dean; it’s only fair we deliver here as well.”

“That’s not what I mean, I mean— This!” Dean took a box in his hands, gripping it, shaking it. “This wrapping is shitty. There’s no bow. There’s ugly tape, the thing’s wrapped all awkward— Doesn’t that bother you? We started off and everything was sweet, Cas. Every place looked kinda lived-in, sure, but they could still pass for movie sets if the lighting was right. And the boxes were pretty, and special-lookin’. Picture-perfect Christmas gift. But the further we go, the crappier the places, and the crappier the boxes. Don’t the people here deserve more?”

Castiel felt the silt of Dean’s unhappiness sink to the bottom of his own stomach, too.

“What’s the point?” Dean asked, this time asking the universe, not Castiel, understanding this wasn’t one he could answer. “What’s the point of a magic Christmas box that contains whatever you want it to contain, if that gift is still bound by the laws of consumerism and capitalism and whatever other shitty societal structures we live by? Can’t magic just be magic? Imagine having a magic power. Say you’re able to make something with just the power of your mind – a chair – but you have fifty cents in your bank account. So the best chair you can make is only ever going to be two inches tall and made out of matchsticks.”

Dean was decidedly glum about this tiny imaginary chair.

“And what’s the point,” Dean went on, “of a flying sleigh, the moose, all of it, if you make sure nobody sees it? We flew to Seattle and we’re not even leaping from roof to roof, we’re just scooting down the road. Why not just hire a delivery truck? Someone who _lives_ in Seattle?

“What’s the _point_ ,” Dean said, frowning, “if everything you give can be found in stores? It ‘must be physical’, yeah right. I wanna get fucked in the ass and cuddled all night and that sounds pretty physical to me, but nobody’s giving me _that_ in a box. What if a kid just wanted his dad to visit him, how about that? That kid gets a plastic dinosaur and no Daddy. What’s the _point_ , Cas?”

Castiel breathed around another breath, trying to think of words but just exhaling instead.

“Best gifts I ever got,” Dean said sullenly, “cost nothing. Dad came home, one Christmas, when I was a kid. Years later, Uncle Bobby gave me a place to sleep when I didn’t have a place to lay my head. Charlie— Pff, everything Charlie does is a gift. And swear to God, Cas, I don’t think she’s ever bought me anything.”

“Those are things given to you by people who love you,” Castiel said, glad he knew the answer to this one. “Gifts from Santa aren’t meant to replace those, or challenge those. In an ideal world, people would receive both. Alas, this is not an ideal world, as you so vehemently pointed out.”

Dean was ready to argue – but then he stopped short, staring into the snow as they trotted along. The realisation hit him at last, and he uttered, stunned, “The gifts from Santa... they’re for people who wouldn’t get anything otherwise.”

After a number of seconds, he gasped aloud. “The motel! The boxe— The boxes! Cas! When I was ten and Sammy was six and Dad was gone and Mom was gone and Bobby wasn’t there yet—” Dean took Castiel by his trenchcoat lapels, enlivened, smiling. “Boxes appeared out of nowhere in the morning, we didn’t have a real tree but they were stacked by the pile of toilet paper rolls we decorated. Sammy got a winter coat – smelled like thrift stores. And I got twenty bucks in cash. Paid for our food for a few days, until Bobby made it through the snow.”

Castiel smiled softly. Dean settled back down, still jittery.

“When I was very young,” Castiel said, “I had no parents, no family – I wasn’t adopted until I was older. I was gifted a teddy bear by Santa.”

“Do you still have it?” Dean asked.

“Clarence,” Castiel smiled. “He always goes with me when I travel back to Siberia for more training with Zām.”

Dean smiled gently, shiny-eyed. “Sweet.”

“I have a certain affinity for soft things,” Castiel admitted.

“Oh yeah?” Dean said, rather impishly. “What about hard ones?”

Castiel eyed him. “Depends what sort. What would I do with it?”

Dean shrugged. “Stick it where it belongs.”

“Under the tree. In a box. Yes?” When Dean shook his head, Castiel shook his own. “No?”

Dean bit his lip, grinning. “Little closer to home, Cas. Maybe, uh, sneak in the back door. Go real slow.”

Castiel squinted. “Are we still talking about the same thing?”

Dean laughed, then sucked his lower lip. He drew a deep breath. “ _My_ back door, Cas.”

“In your apartment?”

“In my – _me_. My body. This thing.” He raised his arms.

“Ah.” Now Castiel understood, he nodded wisely, teasing Dean with his deliberate pondering. “You wouldn’t like to rush the delivery of this particular hard thing, I suppose.”

“Well, uh.” Dean peered down at his lap, fingers fiddling with his jeans. “Kinda never had anyone special to give me something that way before, so. Don’t wanna do anything too wild the first time.”

“But you want to be...” Castiel trailed off. The words _fucked in the ass_ still echoed between chain-link fences and snow-covered dog houses. Less crudely, Castiel finished, “Filled up with goodness.”

Dean shrugged slowly, hands rubbing together between his bowed thighs. “You know that thing...? The complicated thing. The complicated thing I’m not allowed to want.”

“Yes.”

“I just—” Dean bowed his head, ashamed. “Just wanna be – taken care of. You know?” He shrugged again. “Showed what to do, guided through it. Held. Played with. My hair, my hands. Just... loved. Loved so much, Cas. And I want someone to say it.”

His heart had been broken, Castiel saw it in his longing eyes and his downturned lips. His heart had been broken by nobody, by the absence of a somebody.

“Nobody’s ever said it,” Castiel realised.

“I think I waited so long before coming out, not because I was scared, or because I didn’t know how. But just because...” Dean sighed, looking at the snow but not really seeing it. “Because I hadn’t found a guy, the right one, the one who’d prove something. Prove I was really what I said I was. Prove I was serious about dating guys. Prove that me being bi was about relationships, and love, and friendship, not just something my dick was into. Shit, I waited _so_ goddamn long. Just because – why? I— I want my first time with a guy to be perfect. That’s why. My first time with a girl sucked, and it screwed me up for years.”

Castiel gave Dean a sorry look, but Dean didn’t see. So he asked, “What’s perfect to you?”

Dean disappeared into a fantasy for a few seconds, and emerged smiling softly. “Tells me he loves me and means it.”

But in the seconds that followed, Dean’s smile disappeared. “It’s never gonna happen, Cas. I’m crazy for even hoping.”

“Dean,” Castiel said, as softly as he dared. “You’d be crazy to give _up_ hope.”

“But how’s it meant to happen?” Dean spread his hands. “Every guy out there is a jerk or taken or not my type. It takes a good few months to get serious about someone, right? That means I’ve gotta get to know someone, talk to them regularly for that long. At _least_. And I’ve had Tinder for three years now – and like I said: jerk, taken, or not my type. Longest it ever lasted was a month, before he revealed himself to be _all_ of the above.”

“Maybe Tinder isn’t for you?”

“Charlie met Gilda on Tinder. And they’re happily married now.”

Castiel took a breath to counter that remark, but sighed instead.

“Think about it,” Dean grumbled. “Either I wait months, maybe years for that one rare guy who isn’t a jerk, isn’t secretly dating someone else, and I actually like, or I never bang a guy and my ass dies a virgin.”

Castiel felt a sinking feeling inside him, wishing Dean could get what he wanted. “For what it’s worth,” he said, “If I weren’t heading back to Siberia after this, I’d be glad to wait that long.”

“You’re leaving?”

“For one year.” Castiel shrugged.

“Oh.” Dean looked at his shoes. “Well.” He gulped. “There goes my last hope.” He tried to grin like it was a joke, but there was real defeat in his eyes, and Castiel felt awful seeing it.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, well,” Dean rolled a shoulder. “For a first kiss, you were awesome.”

Castiel smiled. “I’m glad.”

“Me too.”

After that, they rode on in silence, on their way to deliver the last few gifts.

  
**⁂**  


[ **Psst, are you okay? Sorry, I just got your text, my phone died. Stupid torch. Did Castiel get you home safely?** ]

[ **Oh hey Charlie. Uhhhh funny story, we’re in Seattle right now. Check out this pic from earlier :-D** ]

[ **Whaaaat? Cool view :O Did you take a plane? Or are you in that Space Needle?** ]

[ **Nope, and nope ;-)** ]

[ **When will you be back?** ]

[ **Cas says later this morning. Oh shit it’s almost 6am when the heck did that happen. No wonder I’m so hungry. K well we’re taking off in a second, text u soon** ]

[ **Oh my gosh, good luck!!! *holds your hand*** ]

[ **Ok we’re in the air. God I hate flying** ]  
[ **Cas is a pretty good pilot though** ]

[ **?????????** ]

[ **I’ll explain when I get home** ]  
[ **Actually Cas says I’m not allowed to do that under any circumstances and his voice got all growly and scary and it made me all tingly so nope** ]

[ **Ooh, top secret. Such intrigue.** ]

[ **Hey, can you look at this photo and tell me what you see? Cas says you won’t see the same as what I see** ]

[ **Um it’s a photo of a deer butt? What the hell do YOU see?** ]

[ **Ok so apparently you mustve had contact with the fairy realms or something cause you’re definiately not meant to see that, Cas is conbfused** ]

[ **Oh yeah. So. You know how I said I met Gilda on Tinder...........? Well, she was technically ON tinder. Like, strapped on a pyre, because this weird village cult was gonna burn her for being a witch. And I rescued her and turns out she’s like... a fairy. A magic fairy.** ]

[ **...............Oooooooooooh. That explains so much.** ]

[ **She told me not to tell you unless you figured it out. You keep pinching my Whackos and those researchers keep it pretty real so it was always a possibility** ]

[ **Huh. Guess we’re ALL out of the closet now ;-P** ]

[ **90% chance this closet leads to Narnia** ]

[ **I read that out to Cas and he laughed. God he has a nice laugh. Help meeeee** ]

[ **Ooh, is that a crush coming on?** ]

[ **H,ah! too late for that** ]  
[ **He’s leaving for a year tho ;-(** ]  
[ **And it was all goin so well ;-( ;-( ;-(** ]

[ **Bummer. Is he a fairy or just a *fairy*?** ]

[ **Funny. Nah he’s human. Just works for — okay nope can’t tell u that, CLASSIFIED,** ]  
[ **Cas is such a** ]

[ **What? Such a what?** ]

[ **He just gets all growly and sysa shit like ‘you are not permitted to purvey that information’ and ‘i WILL reprimand you’ and like its weird?? but im kind of into it** ]  
[ **And he already told me the classified thing before he knew i could see fairies so i think he’s just bein growly cause it makes me blush like a friggin anime girl >;-P** ]  
[ **Yo** ]  
[ **Dude did u fall back asleep? K well night Charlie, u suck** ]  
[ **Kidding. Learned last night that stuff doesn’t come across right in text** ]  
[ **Luv u** ]

  
**⁂**  


Dean re-read that last text to Charlie over and over, nibbling his lip, then sent his phone to sleep. It could be nice to say it to people, sometimes. Maybe they’d get the hint and say it back.

There were other ways to say it, though, Dean had always known that. Charlie said it the easiest, with cheek kisses and schedules cleared for hangout days, with letting Dean win at games when he felt bad, then destroying his high scores to keep him on his toes, and, always, with nice gentle compliments that she’d never say if anyone else was in earshot.

Dean looked at Castiel, and wondered.

  
**⁂**  


[ **Yo Sammy, what do u see in this phot?.** ]

[ **What? Dean, it’s 6am, you’re never up this early. It’s a cloud. Did you eat Gilda’s cooking again?** ]

[ **Ok awesome you’re fairy-free** ]

[ **I’m serious, Dean, lay off the funky desserts** ]

[ **What do you see in THIS photo?** ]

[ **Is this some kind of memory game? It’s a red diner seat, and your leg, and what I really hope is a ketchup stain.** ]

[ **Yeah I opened a magic box and there was a burger inside from that BBQ place in Lawrence, u remember?** ]

[ **Oh yeah!!! The one with the pickle and relish!!!** ]

[ **God no, the one with the mystery sauce. But yeah same place** ]

[ **I’m telling you, Dean, enough mystery sauce** ]

[ **I was hungry n told Cas that if I could time travel, I’d go back and get a burger from there. And he hands me a magic box and walla! Burger** ]

[ **It’s voila** ]

[ **No it’s a burger** ]

[ **Dean WHY ARE YOU HIGH AT 6AM** ]

[ **What’s in this photo?** ]

[ **A man with blue hair looking offended ANSWER ME** ]

[ **That’s Cas and he’s cute and I love him** ]  
[ **No but also im real tired and i probably dont LoVe love him yet but he is cute** ]  
[ **Do u think he’s cute or** ]

[ **Dean I did not get out of bed at 6 to confirm whether or not your boyfriend is cute** ]  
[ **But actually yes I can see him looking good next to you** ]  
[ **Is that what you were looking for? Can I go for my morning run now?** ]

[ **Yeah, night Sammy. <3 u** ]

[ **Did you just...?** ]  
[ **< 3 you too** ]  
[ **Say hi to your new boyfriend from me.** ]

  
**⁂**  


Dean watched the last message come in, and he smiled, half-eaten burger in one hand, mouth full on one side. “I could get used to this,” he said.

“What?”

“Saying ‘I love you’.”

Castiel smiled. Dean could see the effort it took not to lower his eyes to the burger, but his eyes went that way anyway. He wet his lips, looking hungry.

Dean smirked. “Want some?” He offered the burger to Castiel.

Castiel glanced at the sky ahead, hesitating on loosening his grip on the reins. Dean scoffed, and offered the burger closer; Cas could eat while he held it.

Surprised, Castiel leaned in and took a bite, chomping over Dean’s teeth marks. “Mmh,” he moaned, eyes shut. “Now tha’ssh a goob burger. Mm makesh me _very_ happy.”

“I know, right?” Dean grinned, eating some more. “Mm. Santa bless magic boxes.”

They were quiet for a while. Castiel spoke only once, to remark on how the storm had passed, and they only needed to pass through a channel of wispy fluff, and then there was clear skies all the way back home.

Silence took over again.

Dean let Castiel finish his burger, and didn’t even feel weird about it. Hey, Cas was hungry too. And like Cas mentioned previously, Dean liked making other people happy. Most of the time it was an innocent, familial thing. But then sometimes it wasn’t. Dean wasn’t sure which kind this was, but it still felt good.

“What I don’t get,” Dean mused, looking up into the arching galaxies above, “is that... like... you guys have magic, right? And everything in your freaky magic lives is basically noncorporeal. We can walk through doors. We can fly despite the laws of physics. The freaking _moose_ clearly has human-like comprehension levels. The fact I can see the shit from Santa’s world – me, who was kidnapped by fairies – but Sam can’t see the things I’ve photographed tonight _proves_ everything you guys do and have is magical. Or scientific, maybe, just miles out of my realm of understanding. So given all that – why can’t you make noncorporeal gifts? A hug. Closure on a hard topic. Or at least physical gifts that have powers for the receiver. A plush toy that fixes depression. Shoes that help a bullied kid run faster.”

“Santa doesn’t... make the gifts,” Castiel said, in a tentative way that made it clear he wasn’t supposed to be saying this. “The person who opens the box, whatever they believe is inside, that’s what they get.”

“What if—” Dean rubbed his forehead. “What if all this one chick wants is to be proposed to by her boyfriend, and she opens the box and there’s a ring in there that the guy never bought?”

“Again, they’re limited by plausible financial expenditure.”

“A plastic dollar-store ring. It’s symbolic of his proposal, and she conjures the thing up from sheer want. But he was never actually gonna propose.”

Castiel hesitated, and for a moment, Dean felt smug for catching him out, but then guilty for pushing so far.

“I don’t know,” Castiel admitted. “I don’t know how any of this works. It just works. And it’s amazing and fantastic and I’m always afraid that if I ask too many questions, dig too deeply, I’ll be removed from this service and won’t be allowed back. Or worse: I’ll find out it’s not magical, there’s nothing special about it, it’s just smoke and mirrors, and Zām is a robot and Santa’s mission control is just a government operation designed to keep the crazy people busy.”

Zām flicked his ears in a disdainful kind of way.

“I dunno, man,” Dean shrugged. “In your place, I’d never stop asking. I’d want to _know_. I’d want to know the abilities and limits of what you’re working with. I want to know where the rules end, why the rules are there, how they came about. I’d want to ask why any of this happens the way it does. I’d want to meet my co-workers, I’d want to ride side-by-side with someone each Christmas, not alone. I’d ask for more safety precautions. Hell, I’d ask for someone to install seatbelts. And I’m a fuckin’ hypocrite, saying that, because my Baby, my Impala, she doesn’t have seatbelts. But— But it’s different seeing someone else do it, you know? I don’t want you flying to Slovenia or Siberia or God knows where and plopping your ass straight into the ocean just because a dolphin made your moose jump.”

Finally Dean sighed, shaking his head in perplexion. “Look, my point is, you _work_ with this stuff, dude, how can you not know how it works?” 

Castiel tutted. “Do you know every detail of how your microwave oven works? Your radio?”

“Um, yeah. I work in tech support.”

“Well, bad example. But most people don’t know. Barbara, aged forty-eight, from Wisconsin, mother of two and weekend gardener, does not wonder how her microwave oven works, just knows that one serving of her pot roast needs two minutes to heat up, four on low if it’s stored in ceramic.”

“And you’re Barbara, forty-eight, from Wisconsin.”

“I’m Castiel, thirty-something, from Massachusetts. But I am deeply fascinated by microwave ovens.”

Dean smiled. “Maybe I can draw you a diagram sometime.”

“May-be.” Castiel smiled back.

  
**⁂**  


Castiel wasn’t sure if he’d ever met anyone with this number of freckles. He turned his head, mesmerised by the way each fleck showed through Dean’s foundation. The base had partly faded by now, and in the faintest blue of the rising dawn, they were clear enough that Castiel could count them, if he so wished.

Dean slept with the nape of his neck on the sleigh’s backrest, his painted mouth hanging open, throaty breaths rumbling in and out of him.

Castiel watched him, watched him breathe, watched him slumber; watched over him as he rested.

Castiel was tired enough to sleep too; that was why he’d landed the sleigh, and decided to take a break before finishing the journey. They were parked in the middle of a flat, snow-covered field, and Castiel could see a swing set in the distance, so he assumed this was a public play area. There was nobody around, besides Zām, who nosed at the snow to examine it.

Birdsong melodies swooped in the air, far away and low down, and close by, high above. Morning joy crept over the horizon as the sun’s rays tinted the mist with lilac, but did not breach it with gold yet.

“It’s a pity you’re missing this,” Castiel remarked to Dean, quietly enough not to wake him. “It’s as beautiful as you.”

He watched Dean again, torn between his sleeping form and the awakening sky.

People were so interesting, Castiel thought. He could study someone like this forever, probably. Just watching, listening. He realised he was curious about Dean the way Dean was curious about the magic; Castiel had a hundred questions, and wanted answers for all of them. How did Dean come to be? What places or people lost in his past remained as the basis for all his most reflective dreams? Did he prefer summer or winter? Did he want to be loved immediately, or would he be willing to wait for Castiel, the way Castiel was willing to wait for Dean?

“Would you wait a year?” Castiel asked him, touching his cold cheek. “Or is that too long for you?”

Dean’s lashes fluttered, both real and fake together. He licked his lips, inhaling, squinting at the brightening sky, then turning dazedly to Castiel. Castiel’s hand remained cupping his face, warming that part of him with his palm.

“Did you say somethin’?” Dean asked, his voice hoarse.

“Did you hear something?” Castiel asked back.

Dean thought for a bit, eyes lowered. He looked at Castiel’s black shirt, then at the sky beyond. “I’m not sure what I heard.”

“What does instinct tell you?” Castiel asked, letting his hand slip away as Dean pushed himself up to sit.

Dean watched the sky, then he watched Castiel. He seemed to be equally torn, and had the same expression when he looked at both. Castiel felt vulnerable under his soft gaze, and the sensation was exquisite. It was as though he was being touched, like Dean ran his hand over draped cloth to sense its texture; Castiel’s belly shuddered with a sensational pleasure, as though warmed with the heat of a secret, whispered onto his skin.

Taking a breath, Dean lowered his eyes, to impart what his instinct heard.

But instead he looked upwards, and smiled. “Stars are fading.”

Castiel looked at Dean’s freckles, and shook his head. “They might be hidden away sometimes, but they’ll always be there. And they’re always beautiful.”

Dean smiled up at the sky. “I guess even in Siberia, you’d still have stars.”

Castiel breathed out, knowing this was Dean’s reply. Instinct knew. Dean had heard, even if his sleeping ears hadn’t.

“Every night I’ll look out,” Castiel promised. “Will you?”

Dean had a sad look in his eyes as he peered back. But he still smiled. “Every night.” A frown flickered across Dean’s forehead and darkened the light in his eyes; he was mourning already. “Just so you know...?” He gulped, then lowered his chin, murmuring, “I was gonna ask you out. At the end of the night.”

“You still can,” Castiel said, smiling.

Dean smiled back, wary and hopeful at once. But he didn’t say anything. He leaned close and kissed Castiel, softly, on the lips.

Castiel touched his cheek and kissed back, nose warmed by his face. He accepted the breaths Dean gifted him, and gave back a few of his own, feeling Dean swallow them, silent secrets and open truths together.

They pulled back, hands together on their close-pressed thighs.

“Come on,” Castiel said, reaching up to stroke Dean’s pink hair back, easing sparkles backwards along the strands. Dean shut his eyes, and Castiel kissed his nose. “Let’s take you home.”

  
**⁂**  


The apartment block looked different to Dean, in the winter sun. He sat for a moment in the sleigh, holding the gold barrier, not wanting to leave Castiel’s fantastic universe and return to his own. His window was still dark, while everyone else’s was lit up. His car was parked outside, but she did not have bells, or antlers, and somehow, as peculiar as it was, that made her lacking.

Dean sighed, turning to Castiel. “Guess it’s about time you kicked me out.”

“A good guess,” Castiel said, making Dean roll his eyes. “But,” he added, “a wrong one.”

Dean tilted his head the tiniest bit, asking.

Castiel kissed him, answering. “Tonight you flew in a sleigh, you survived a full flip and a freefall in a snowstorm, you delivered forty-five gifts, and you accompanied one of Santa’s helpers for a whole night without falling asleep until the end. Most newbies don’t even do _two_ of those things so well on their first flight.”

“Yeah, I did it,” Dean said, “But sayin’ I did it _well_... eh, that’s pushing it.”

Castiel kissed him again. “You did it well. I’m proud of you.”

Dean fretted, too eager to argue, but Castiel kissed him a third time, insisting, “You’re good at this, Dean,” and only then did Dean accept the compliment. Resentfully, with an eye roll.

“Don’t you like being told you did well?” Castiel asked, cocking his head.

Hesitation silenced Dean, and he could only shrug.

“You don’t believe me,” Castiel realised. “You don’t think you deserve praise.”

“People over-exaggerate,” Dean shrugged. He spoke lightly, but there was weight in his chest that wanted to pull him downwards, sinking forever. “They don’t mean to lie, but they do.”

“Do you lie?” Castiel asked Dean. “When someone asks if they did well, do you tell them the truth?”

“I tell them where they went wrong, I say there’s room for improvement, because there always is. And, yeah, I’ll say if they did good or not. But—”

“But you did _well_.” Castiel held his face and looked into his eyes, sighing. “Your extra weight in the sleigh almost killed us in the storm, yes, and you slowed us down in the delivery with your hesitation, and I’m not convinced Zām likes you. But, Dean—? We _didn’t_ die. You helped me deliver all the gifts before dawn, technically cutting my workload in half. And I have an apple you can give Zām, so I think that would help.”

Castiel handed Dean the aforementioned apple, then gripped and shook his hand gently. “Of course there’s room for improvement, Dean, this was your first time out. You weren’t allowed to be here in the first place, and getting you clearance would be an obvious place to make changes. But that’s for me to do, not you. You do deserve praise, Dean – but not because you’re naturally talented at this, not because you clearly follow by example and learn quickly. You deserve praise because you _did_ help me – and even if you hadn’t been any help, you _did_ try, and you came with me because you wanted to change yourself, release yourself from the patterns of old. And have you?” Castiel raised his eyebrows. “Are you different, now? Have you had fun, or changed for the better?”

Dean again tripped over his answer. But he looked up into the window with no lights, only the pale reflection of the morning, and he sighed. Then he looked back at Castiel, his impossibly blue eyes, and replied, “Yeah.”

Castiel kissed him one more time, then stroked his thumb over Dean’s cheek. “Tell me how _well_ you think you did.”

Dean gritted his teeth briefly, but relaxed, and murmured, head down, “I did okay.”

“You did—”

“ _Well_! I did well! Alright, there, I said it. Happy now?”

Castiel laughed, and wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck, giving him a comforting hug. “Yes.”

“You suck,” Dean mumbled into Castiel’s coat collar.

“Not for a year,” Castiel said, pulling back. He winked.

Dean blushed, looking down and grinning. He drew a breath, then fished out his cellphone. “One picture before my battery dies?”

Castiel sat closer, arm around Dean, smiling as Dean raised the phone.

Dean took the photo, then looked at it. His makeup had smudged a little, and he was tired, but he glowed in the pinkening light. And Sam was right. Cas did look good next to him.

At last, Dean hopped out of the sleigh. He kept his hand on the barrier, still reluctant to let go.

He took a photo of Zām, grinning as the moose looked back at him. “Dunno what it is,” Dean said, showing Cas the picture, “but your magic flying moose kinda reminds me of my brother.”

Zām made a noise at Dean, then headbutted him onto the sidewalk.

“Hey! What gives?” Dean demanded, then realised the moose was after the apple. “Jeez, ever heard someone say ‘please’?” He let Zām take the apple, surprised that he didn’t lose a hand in the process. Zām snorted hot air in his face.

“That’s how he says ‘thank you’,” Castiel said. “He does have manners, see.”

“Uh-huh.” Dean wiped moose-nose dampness on his jeans.

He went quiet, and still, just looking at Zām, then at Castiel. He approached the moose, and touched his giant, furry head. Zām seemed wary, but then lowered his antlers and let Dean scratch his ears.

“I’ll never forget you,” Dean told Zām, quietly. “This was... magical, and amazing, and the best night of my life. And – hah, that’s sayin’ something, ‘cause I’ve had some pretty hot sex with girls before, so.” He smiled, thumping the side of Zām’s head to push him away. “See ya ‘round, I guess.”

He stepped back onto the sidewalk, hands in his pockets.

Castiel still watched him, but Dean didn’t look back.

Keeping his eyes down, Dean called, “Am I gonna see you again?”

Castiel chuckled. “Assuming you’re addressing me and not my moose...” The laugh faded, and his reply was solemn. “The truth is, Dean, my drive to help others was always stronger than my drive to do anything else. I lost myself in fantasy worlds long ago and it’s all but impossible to live a mundane existence now. I come back to work, to make money – living by those ‘shitty’ social structures, as you said – and the rest of the time, I’m only preparing for tonight. This one night of the year where everything is magnificent and I can change a hundred lives, all at once. I realised a while ago, this is all I want to do. That’s the complicated thing I’ve always wanted. I want to leave normality behind entirely. That’s why I’m leaving for a year. If all goes well... I... I may not come back at all.”

“So that’s a no,” Dean said brutishly, folding his arms. “You could’ve just said no, dude.”

“Don’t throw your anger at me,” Castiel snapped back. “I’m doing what I want to do in life, Dean – and yes, it comes with sacrifices, and no small amount of fear, and just I thought – clearly I was mistaken – maybe you would see my choice as a rational one if you knew why I made it. Don’t be angry at me because you don’t have the same courage.”

“I have courage,” Dean snarled. “You never came out, you don’t know the _half_ of what that takes.”

“I was willing to learn what it meant for you,” Castiel said, softly enough that Dean’s heart clenched, regretting his harsher tone. “If I hadn’t already made travel plans... I would have stayed just to find out.”

Dean settled his upset with a long breath. “Go,” he said, combing his hair with his fingertips, running his palm over his forehead. “Whatever. Just go, Cas, go to fairyland and live our your dreams.”

“Is this how we part ways?” Castiel asked, hands on the reins, sorry eyes peering down into Dean’s. He immediately provided his own answer: he reached into the back of the sleigh, ass in the air, and dug up a forgotten gift from the bottom of the trough. But was it forgotten, or remembered?

It was wrapped in pink paper with a golden ribbon. Dean looked closely as Castiel handed it down, and he saw there was a penguin sticker on the wrapping. Dean smiled. “Is this for me?”

“It is now. It contains whatever you want most, so long as it’s physical.”

Dean pouted. “What if I just wanted a hug?”

Castiel sat a little closer to Dean. “ _Do_ you want a hug?”

Dean breathed out in a shudder, but said nothing.

Castiel got down into the snow, and took Dean under his arms. Dean relaxed into his embrace, eyes shut, breathing Castiel’s scent. When the stores opened next, Dean was gonna go hunting for whatever laundry powder Cas smelled like, because he smelled incredible.

Castiel waited until Dean let go before he stepped back.

Dean lifted the gift, fumbling with a breath until he said, “Thanks.”

Castiel leaned in and kissed him one last time, and Dean felt in his lingering touch and his slowness and the pressure that it _was_ the last kiss. Maybe ever.

“For the record,” Dean said, as clouds of breath flooded the air between them, “I think you do help people, even at the mall. This?” He gestured at his face. “I feel sexier and more confident than I have in ages. Or...?” He paused to consider. “Or maybe that was just you. You made me feel that.”

Castiel said nothing to that. He nodded, and got back into his sleigh. He took the reins, and Dean stepped back, seeing how Castiel wore a halo of watery sunshine as beautifully as he’d worn the moonlight.

“Goodbye, Dean,” Castiel said.

Dean held his box, and smiled.

Castiel clacked the reins, leaving the bells ajingle as Zām stepped into a walk, sliding the brass sleigh supports along Mercury Drive.

“Bye, Cas,” Dean whispered, as the sleigh pulled away into the distance.

  
**⁂**  



	3. Chapter 3

Whatever Cas had put on Dean’s face didn’t want to come back off. ‘Kissproof’ apparently also meant ‘waterproof’, ‘soapproof’, ‘ _dish_ soapproof’, ‘hard-scrub-with-a-towelproof’, and ‘emergency-lotion-proof’.

Well, it only followed, given that the makeup had withstood tears, snow, a cloud, an open-air flight, and a nine-hour night, and still looked pretty decent.

So Dean went to bed, having removed only his fake lashes.

He slept fitfully, too enlivened by adventure to shut down, but too tired to get out of bed.

He realised around midday that it was Christmas Day. He texted everyone in his phone contacts with [ **Mrrry Xmas yall** ], then fell back asleep.

His cellphone rang at two p.m., and he sniffed awake, head up from a wonky pillow. He patted around for the phone, finding it in the sheets, and he answered it, grunting to clear his throat. “H’llo?”

“ _Dean?_ ”

Dean sat bolt upright. “Cas?”

“ _You wrote your number on my arm, I just thou—_ ”

Silence.

Dean waited. “Cas?” He twitched, then looked at the phone screen. Dead black. He thumbed the home button – no response. The battery had drained. He yowled in despair and chucked the phone in an upward arc, entire body collapsing back into the blankets before the phone hit the carpet. He thumped his head into his pillow, grunting, grunting, hating everything. There were little flecks of black on his pillow from his makeup, and they seemed as permanent there as they had been on his face.

He slumped out of bed, fumbling around to connect his phone to his charger. But it wouldn’t charge. He checked the plug was connected, and switched on. He flicked on a nearby lamp, to check the rest of his apartment still had power. He unplugged the charger and plugged it back into another socket. Still nothing.

Dean sat heavily on his bed, back hunched, dead phone in his hands. His body registered as a chaotic hum of discontent rather than a body.

Sighing near-continually for two minutes straight, he went to the bathroom, then came back.

He drifted into his tiny kitchen, looking at the pile of bills and assorted paper documents making a centrepiece on his dining table, a raised plinth for displaying Castiel’s magic giftbox. Pink and gold wrapping basked in a stripe of weak sunshine.

What Dean wanted to find inside the box was a future where someone held him tightly, kissed him, and gave him the kind of love he craved. But he knew the boxes didn’t work like that. It had to be a physical _object_ , so it wasn’t like Cas himself could come bursting out of the top.

Dean imagined he could easily let the gift stay there, like another one of those inbox-outbox documents. Just one more important thing he didn’t want to deal with.

He and Cas _were_ similar, weren’t they? Neither of them wanted to live in the real world, not really. Dean wanted a cute house and a cute boyfriend and a rabbit, and a hot tub in the backyard, and a chimney mantlepiece to hang ugly stockings and a closet to hang up the pretty ones, but he didn’t wanna figure out tax forms or calculate how much he needed to save to buy a hot tub. What was the point of a hot tub if he had nobody to flirt naked with?

Standing there in his underwear and robe, Dean stared at the box, and a dream state came over him, and all at once the Earth turned faster under him, the sunlight stripe rotating across the room, up the wall, then fading at sunset. The moon went past, following the same path, leaving the same stripe; a sundial turn, a clock hand ticking. A hundred times it came and went, faster and faster.

The bills piled up, then filled the trash bin. The fridge magnets shifted in jerks, arranged, then were abandoned for weeks before being rearranged again. The plant in the window died, replaced by another one the same. The dishes in the sink rose and fell like breaths, a faint clatter filling Dean’s head. He saw the shadow of his own form, rushing around, disappearing for the day and returning at night, tired. Tired, tired. Lost in the flashes of light that kept on coming, neverending, first followed by the waning moon, and eventually by darkness.

Dean looked at the pink and golden gift, and its penguin sticker, moved from plinth to table to kitchen counter, then to the living room. He followed it, searching for it like he searched for a housefly that moved too fast to see, but liked to settle. The back of the couch, then the sideboard by the window when the couch moved. Then a bookshelf.

There it stayed, as the living room grew messy, was tidied, grew messy again, was tidied. The golden ribbon on the box sank as time passed, limp now. The pink wrapping faded in the ever-revolving sunlight.

The days turned dark and Dean felt the chill of winter on his skin. A year had passed, and the box had been forgotten. He saw a Christmas tree erected, with lights. And the box remained on its shelf, left too long. It was just part of the background now. It belonged to nobody.

Dean shook his head. He shut his eyes, muttering, “No. No,” hands over his eyes. He huffed, then cried out, “No!”

He parted his hands.

He was alone in his living room, seeing a square of sunlight fixed serenely on that same bookshelf. No Christmas tree. No tired shadow loping from place to place, messing things up.

Dean sighed, in relief and anguish. He turned back to his kitchen, swiping the box from the plinth of paper. He couldn’t imagine what was inside. He took it to the couch, knowing he ought to just trust the magic. Somehow Santa’s little helpers knew what he needed, they always had.

Dean sat down, let out a breath, and pulled open the ribbons. In his mind flashed images of lingerie he’d always liked but was too afraid to try on or buy. Then a box of makeup. Then a box of makeup _wipes_ , since he no doubt still wore pink eyeshadow and lipstick, and his face felt uncomfortable. But he dreaded finding _any_ of those things. He wanted Cas. He wanted Cas and receiving anything else but his unreachable friend as a gift would break his heart.

One eye shut in trepidation, Dean pried open the box top. He tipped his head forward to see inside.

A new phone. A new phone in a glossy store box.

Dean lifted it out. He smiled. He could transfer his number, and then Cas could call again, right?

He tossed the box aside, opened the package, and spent fifteen minutes setting up the phone. Clock, background, SIM card placed in from his old phone. With all the main stuff done, he went to the contacts, about to text Charlie and Sam that he had a new phone, only to realise there was a new contact at the top of the list. _Castiel Pomočnik_.

Dean’s heart began to pound.

Without a moment of hesitation, he pressed the number and hit call.

Phone to his ear, he grasped the waist tie of his navy-blue robe, and waited.

There came a crackle from the other end, and Dean lit up with excitement. “Hello?”

“ _What?_ ” came a confused voice. “ _I don’t understand, why are you saying hello, you called_ me _._ ”

Dean laughed. “Hey, Cas.”

“ _Oh._ ” Dean heard the smile in Castiel’s voice bloom and fill his voice with richness. “ _Hello, Dean._ ”

Dean flopped back on the couch, arm around a cushion, slipper kicking rhythmically on his foot. “What’cha up to?” he asked.

Castiel sighed, then laughed. “ _I’m, um. Packing. Siberia’s so much colder than here, half my luggage is a puffer coat._ ”

“And the other half?” Dean asked, wishing he had a telephone cord to twirl around his finger.

“ _Apples._ ”

Dean laughed softly, snuggling into the couch cushion. “I’m gonna miss you.”

Castiel hummed. “ _I know. I’ll miss you too._ ”

Maybe Cas went quiet after that because he had the same thought Dean had: what they had between them felt like more than a one-night fling. It felt like they’d been friends for a long time. Those two hours in the Shipper’s store so long ago must’ve imprinted deeper into both of them than either of them realised. At the time they’d been throwaway moments. But now Dean remembered that time differently. They were cherished moments now. He’d met a lifelong friend and hadn’t realised.

“Don’t forget to pack Clarence,” Dean mumbled.

“ _I never would forget,_ ” Castiel admitted. “ _I can’t sleep unless he’s watching over me._ ”

Dean scoffed. “Not even if you have a guy over?”

“ _The only men I’m interested in don’t seem to mind,_ ” Castiel said. “ _They like soft, cuddly things. I doubt I would feel so strongly about you if you hadn’t tried to steal that penguin._ ”

Dean rolled his eyes. But he smiled. “I kept that penguin. Gave Sam’s girlfriend a bunch of flowers instead.”

“ _There, you see._ ” Castiel’s voice only became warmer. “ _That’s exactly what I mean._ ”

Dean licked his lips. “So, are you taking a plane to Siberia, or—”

“ _A specially-chartered sleigh, yes,_ ” Castiel said. “ _To the uninitiated it would look like a jet plane._ ”

“When?”

“ _Tonight. I’ve quit my job at Shipper’s. My mail has been redirected. And I’m taking all my houseplants with me._ ”

“Oh.”

“ _You have my number, Dean. We can call._ ”

“Every night?” Dean asked.

His heart flipped as he asked that. God, how clingy could he _be_? No wonder this shit never worked out with other guys, did he always come across like this? Did he smother people? Was he _too much_?

“ _Every night,_ ” Castiel said – and there was a note of relief in his voice. “ _Oh, I can’t tell you how much I’ll need that, Dean. It’s not just cold up there, it’s chaotic. I need— Just, time away, something to do to unwind. And a friend to talk to would be perfect. Thank you._ ”

Dean exhaled, smiling. “Awesome.” He wet his lips. “I— I should probably let you get on with the packing, huh.”

“ _Oh, no, please stay. I can put you down – here. Now my hands are free, and we can talk as much as we like._ ”

Dean sank further into the cushions, eyes on the ceiling. He grinned.

Maybe the next year wouldn’t be so bad.

  
**⁂**  


**JANUARY**

“ _There’s this story_ ,” Castiel said, immediately after Dean picked up the phone, “ _of a historical event, in nineteen-oh-eight. Millions – and I do mean_ millions _of trees fell down, spontaneously. Besides whatever supposedly killed the dinosaurs, the biggest thing to ever hit the Earth? It was this. But Dean—_ ” Cas was breathless, exhilarated, “ _they never found a crater. None. Millions of trees fell down in the middle of Russian territory and not one single person was hurt, and there was a clear epicentre but there was nothing_ there _. No sign of impact._ ”

Dean grinned, chopping carrots with one hand, holding his phone with the other. “I see you made it to Siberia safely.”

“ _They call it the Tunguska event,_ ” Castiel went on. “ _A thousand times more powerful than the atomic bomb, Dean. I can’t believe it. And that happened_ here _. People think it was an asteroid, but if I know anything about the world, it wasn’t anything of the sort._ ”

“New favourite conspiracy theory?” Dean asked.

“ _By far._ ”

“You settled in, yet?”

“ _Ahhh... I have my own room. All white, the walls are curved and the ceiling kind of runs into them. There’s circular nooks in the walls I can use as shelves. There’s no windows, only a skylight far, far overhead, I can’t see it, I only get the daylight down a tunnel. We’re deep underground, it’s too cold to be on the surface. You’d think it would be colder down low but it’s like an igloo, it traps the heat. It’s quite stuffy._ ”

“And your moose?”

“ _There’s stables. But given what’s there, they remind me more of a zoo. I think Zām made some buffalo friends._ ”

Dean chopped his carrot awkwardly and it shot off the kitchen surface and rolled under the fridge. He sighed and decided to pretend that never happened.

“ _What, why did you sigh?_ ”

Dean opened his mouth, then laughed, putting down his knife so he could pinch the bridge of his nose. “You know that thing. Where you do something wrong. And it’s not much of a big deal, but then somewhere down the line, it has an almost-unrelated consequence you didn’t foresee, and you realise that big-ass problem would’ve been prevented, even partially, if you hadn’t made that first mistake. And then you make the same mistake again, and realise you should probably be learning from your mistakes already.”

“ _Yes... I know that ‘thing’._ ”

Dean tipped his head back, grumbling out another sigh. Then he got down on his hands and knees, and crawled close to the fridge, cheek pressed to the linoleum. “There’s a chunk of carrot under my fridge. And yeah, whatever, it’ll dry up and go pruny and eventually I’ll move the fridge, and it’ll be gross, but not that gross. That’s what I figured last time.”

“ _Oh?_ ” Castiel sounded amused. “ _What happened instead?_ ”

Dean got his arm dusty as he fished around, face contorted with disgust as he found a layer of dust, a pen cap, five kinds of dirt, something squishy, and then the carrot. “Mice,” he said, exhaling as he retrieved the carrot. “A lot of very hungry, very noisy mice.”

“ _Oh no._ ”

Dean stood up, tossing the carrot in the garbage, and his hand lurched towards the sink, cheek pinning down his phone on his shoulder so he could wash with two hands. “Alright, we’re good.”

“ _The first time I did the splits,_ ” Castiel began, and Dean perked up, intrigued, “ _I’d spilled a few drops of water on the bathroom floor. I figured it would evaporate, as I was heading out to work. Of course, I had to rush back in to do – I don’t know, something. Brush my teeth. And then, inevitably, my foot slipped._ ”

“Yowch,” Dean winced. “That had to hurt.”

“ _Turns out I’m more flexible than I thought._ ”

“Oh, yeah?” Dean grinned. “Can you suck your own dick?”

Castiel went quiet for a moment. Then he asked, “ _People can do that?_ ”

Dean laughed out loud. “You seriously never tried?”

“ _Well, now I’m going to,_ ” Castiel said, mildly affronted. He smiled again. “ _I’ll get back to you on that. Although I find it fascinating that your measure of how much an ability is worth is whether or not it can be used for sexual purposes._ ”

Dean leaned against the kitchen counter, one arm folded, the other still raised to hold the phone. “I mean,” he said, “what else is the point of being bendy?”

“ _Saving cats from storm drains. Winning competitions? Being able to reach your toes without pulling something in your back._ ”

Dean nodded, eyes rising. “Okay, yeah.”

Castiel again went silent.

“Cas? You still th—”

“ _I’m waiting for you to hang up so I can—_ ”

Dean guffawed, then snickered, cocking his head. “Yeah, all right. You go do your thing. I expect tips and tricks.”

“ _I’ll take notes,_ ” Castiel said flatly.

Dean kept grinning, teeth on his lower lip. “I, uh. Got lunch to finish making, so. Good luck?”

“ _Thank you._ ”

Dean heard the rustling of clothes coming off. His cheeks flushed, and he asked, quietly, “Can’t I listen in?”

Castiel’s breath shivered over a laugh. “ _Bye, Dean._ ”

Dean bowed his head, still smiling. “Yeah, alright. Bye, Cas. Talk tomorrow.”

  
**⁂**  


**FEBRUARY**

“You know what I can’t fuckin’ abide, Cas,” Dean grumped, scooping all the brand-new bottles and boxes and squeezy tubes together on his dresser, “is how _expensive_ this shit is. I mean, sure, I could just buy the knockoffs, but God knows what’s in that crap. And if they stuck anything in a bunny anywhere down the line, and I find out that shit touched my face, I’m gonna be sick.”

“ _I dread to ask how much you spent._ ”

“I dread to count,” Dean uttered. “I got everything you said, though. Foundation – the kind you used before. Eyeshadows. The, uh, the little black stick thing? Mascara! And. And. All this other junk. Including eyeball glue. Look.”

Dean angled his laptop screen down, so his webcam got a good view of all the makeup he’d bought. When he straightened the screen again, Castiel’s forehead was all that was in frame, as he’d leaned close to his own screen to see. He pulled back, nodding.

Cas wore a black t-shirt that hung halfway off one shoulder, clearly a vintage find, and well-loved, as it was all chewed up along the collar. Dean couldn’t see what he wore on his lower half, but given it was seven in the morning for Cas, and he’d likely slept in what he wore, Dean would bet anything it was just underwear.

“ _Okay, are you ready to start?_ ” Castiel asked. “ _Did you exfoliate and moisturise?_ ”

“Yeeeaah,” Dean droned, feeling like a kid coming home to his mom. “I’m all set, Cas. Let’s just do this already.”

Castiel chuckled at Dean’s impatience. “ _Now, don’t be upset if it looks a mess this first time, okay? It takes a lot of practise to get right._ ”

“Hey, so long as I don’t glue my eyes shut, I’m good, Cas,” Dean said, shooting finger guns towards the screen. “What’s first, foundation?”

He worked without instruction for a while, as he’d looked up some tutorials online, and Cas had been giving him pointers here and there before Dean had all his products on hand. Cas only added, “ _Don’t forget your ears,_ ” and “ _Neck too._ ”

Dean blotted on the last of his foundation, seeing how it smoothed out the winter rawness on his forehead, but left his freckles visible. “Okay, done. Uhhhh... eyeshadow?”

“ _Eyebrows first. You could use eyeshadow as powder if you want, it’s easier to control for a beginner. You could even do pink brows to match your hair._ ”

“Hell no, I bought gel, I’m using gel,” Dean said, before losing five minutes to his incomprehension of the gel and subsequently producing one rat-brow and her much smaller son. He wiped it all off, started over, and went with the powder and an angled brush.

Brows done – Jesus Christ, half a freaking hour later – he decided it was time to move onto eyeshadow.

“ _Softly_ ,” Castiel said. “ _Which brush?_ ”

Dean squinted one eye. “Mmm. Fluffy.”

“ _Yeah, that would work. Give it a neutral base – no-no! Too dark. Go with the peach._ ”

Dean let his brush hop from the light brown to the orangy-pink. He took some on the tip and began placing it on his lid. He snuffled. “Dude, this crap’s falling on my cheeks.”

“ _Okay, that’s normal. Generally, the stronger the pigment the more fallout you’ll get. If it bothers you we could do the foundation as a final step rather than first, that way you can wipe up beforehand. Or alternatively you could apply the pigment with a fingertip. It works pretty well for packing on shimmers._ ”

Dean grumbled, finishing up his second eye. He frowned, and leaned closer to the mirror to even out the edges.

“ _Don’t worry about that, we can blend later,_ ” Castiel said. “ _Get a darker brown in the crease._ ”

Dean did as Cas told him to do, following along step-by step. The glitter falling all over his cheeks and onto his dresser made him decide to wipe up the foundation, leaving him bare-cheeked again.

“Oh my Gooood, this takes so looong,” Dean groaned, agonising over his fake lashes. “Every time I put these things anywhere near my eye, I blink. I can’t help it.”

“ _Leave them out for now, you have mascara and eyeliner, that’ll be fine._ ”

“Hmm.”

The eyeliner went on lopsided, and added a black blob right where Dean didn’t want a black blob. He covered it with glitter, but then the glitter spread onto the rest of the eyeliner he _did_ want, so re-drew it, and then the glitter started coming off in chunks—

“Hrrhg.” Dean took the laptop by both hands, glaring at Cas. “ _Hrghh._ ”

Castiel laughed, leaning closer, hand on the back of his neck. “ _It’s coming along, Dean. Hang in there. We can stop here if you like, anyway. I find even just a lick of brown around my eyes and some brow shadow is enough to satisfy me for everyday._ ”

“I don’t want an ‘everyday’ look, Cas, I wanna do somethin’ sexy for dressing up.”

“ _Dressing up?_ ”

“Y’know,” Dean shrugged. “For nights I wanna walk my feet up the wall.”

Somehow – and neither Dean nor Castiel was entirely sure how, but ‘walking one’s feet up the wall’ had become a casual euphemism between them – an in-joke, even – for taking time for themselves, alone, whether that meant running a bath, unplugging the Internet for the night (or unplugging the rest of the world and spending the evening scrolling their recommended feed on Instagram), reading a trashy magazine instead of work stuff, sneaking into the stables in the dead of night to ride an elephant around (that was Cas, obviously), or, on certain nights, maybe just hiding in bed and sticking a hand between their legs.

See, as it turned out, Cas _could_ suck his own dick. And apparently – so he’d said – the best way to do it was by walking his feet up the wall and then bending his knees.

Dean had tried. He wasn’t that bendy, alas. But he quickly discovered there were other ways to walk his feet up the wall in search of a good time, besides literally walking his feet up the wall.

“ _You don’t seem to find this relaxing,_ ” Castiel remarked, as Dean cursed his eyeliner pen and told it he would sacrifice its first-born to Satan if it didn’t behave. “ _I struggle to imagine what you’d take from this on a night off._ ”

Dean wet his lips and shrugged. “Maybe it’s not about lookin’ good, Cas. Maybe it’s just – y’know – the process. Gussying up. Putting on something pretty. Singing along to Taylor Swift.”

“ _I see...?_ ” Castiel said, while not seeing.

Dean smiled to himself, happy to keep a few secrets. He liked how he looked in makeup, even messy makeup. And he hadn’t glued his eyes shut yet, so he’d count this as a win.

  
**⁂**  


**MAY**

Castiel lay on his bed, smiling at the curved white ceiling. He held his phone, listening to Dean ramble on, and on, and on. Most of the time they called when Castiel first woke up, but in recent times, they’d taken to talking when he was about to get to sleep. He liked listening to Dean’s voice before bed, he found it soothing. That remained true even when Dean complained – at length – about his tech support job, or demanded Castiel pull out a notebook and explain back to him everything he’d learned about microwave ovens, or listened intently to Castiel talk about his time in Siberia, before moaning in despair because _he_ didn’t get to pet tigers on Sundays.

But still Castiel smiled, because he was just as happy to pet tigers as he was to listen to Dean’s grumbling and make soothing noises at him. The process felt curiously similar.

But sometimes Dean wouldn’t shut _up_.

“Dean—” Castiel grinned, trying to get a word in edgeways. “Dean, I need to—”

“ _And turned out he was trying to run the thing on AA batteries, can you believe that? And after all the time I’d invested already—_ ”

“Dean!”

“ _What?_ ”

“As much as I love hearing your stories, I do... _really_ need to get to sleep,” Castiel said softly, rubbing his aching eyes. “I’m going to fall asleep on the phone unless I go now.”

“ _Oh... okay,_ ” Dean said. He gulped. “ _Could.... Could I stay anyway? And just keep talking while you...?_ ”

“Don’t you have anyone else to talk to?” Castiel asked.

“ _Yeah. Sam’s here, he’s making brunch. I just. I dunno. It’s nice talkin’ to you._ ”

“Ye... Aauuhhh...” Castiel yawned, sinking further down in his bed. He patted around for a blanket, and rolled up, snuggling under it.

“ _Hey, Sam could talk to you for a bit,_ ” Dean suggested, and Castiel heard him walk into his kitchen, where kitchen sounds filled the speaker. “ _Sammy, you wanna talk to Cas?_ ”

“ _What, really?_ ” Sam said. His voice made Castiel smile; he sounded like he fit the long-haired, puppy-eyed description Dean had given. “ _Hello?_ ”

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel mumbled. “Ah— Uh-um— Hm, apologies for my mumbling, Dean won’t let me sleep. I’m... very... very sleepy.”

Sam chuckled. “ _God, I’m sorry. He’s such an ass. Dean, you’re an ass. Let your boyfriend go to sleep._ ”

Castiel grinned, eyes shut. “I’m his boyfriend?”

“ _Uh? Well, that’s what he calls you, so—?_ ”

“Really?” Castiel prickled with a surge of consciousness, waking up a little. “He says that aloud? To you?”

“ _To everyone. Me. Charlie. Uncle Bobby? Jody, Ellen, Rufus— Everyone._ ” Sam sounded a little sick of it, actually, and that gave Castiel a unique thrill. “ _You’re the cute blue-haired boyfriend who works in Siberia with a pet moose who convinced Dean to dye his hair pink._ ”

Castiel rolled onto his back, chuckling. His eyes were open now, his heart light. “Does he re-dye it?”

“ _About once a month. The bathroom sink in our apartment is permanently stained._ ”

Castiel laughed, his bed-warm hand falling to cover his eyes.

Sam seemed to be smiling widely as he asked, “ _Do you really have a moose?_ ”

“Yes.”

“ _Doesn’t it attack you? I thought they were super dangerous._ ”

“Zām is especially well trained,” Castiel said, fighting off a yawn. “I— Heh... A _uugh_ hh...”

“ _Ahh, I should let you go, we can talk some other time. I’ll pass you back to Dean, he’s doing grabby-hands at me. But if he doesn’t hang up, you hang up on_ him _, and get to bed. Okay?_ ”

“Okay,” Castiel smiled. “Bye, Sam. Nice talking to you.”

“ _You too._ ”

There was a scuffle, then Dean’s voice came down the line. “ _Okay, look,_ ” he said, “ _when I say ‘boyfriend’, I mean, like, you’re a boy, and you’re a friend, I don’t— It’s not exactly a romantic thing, necessarily, I was just—_ ”

“Dean,” Castiel smiled. “It’s okay. I’ll be your boyfriend if you like.”

“ _But you’re in Siberia._ ”

“That hasn’t stopped us becoming _good_ friends,” Castiel said. “Has it?”

“ _No_.”

“No,” Castiel agreed. He blinked hard, trying to banish the sleep from his eyes. “I really need to go, now, Dean...”

“ _Yeeeahhh... okay. Talk tomorrow, yeah?_ ”

“Of course.”

“ _’Kay. Bye._ ”

“Bye, Dean.”

Dean hesitated for a couple more seconds, but then hung up.

Castiel looked at his cellphone, seeing the call end, the evening’s timer freezing at nearly two hours. He smiled, rolling over to put his phone on charge.

Dean had been hesitating a lot, recently. Usually before the call ended. Like he expected to hear something, or was psyching himself up to say something. Castiel had his suspicions on what that something was, but he quelled those suspicions, unwilling to bait himself into having his own hesitations. If Dean were to speak, or Castiel were to speak, then they’d say the right thing, at the right time. So far they hadn’t said it, because neither of them were sure it was the right time yet.

But they were getting there. Cas knew they were. And so did Dean.

  
**⁂**  


**JULY**

“ _I’m sick of it, Cas. It’s official: I hate my job. I hate it. I want out. But I gotta pay the bills, right? Gotta keep my head down and keep at it._ ”

Castiel sighed in sympathy. “Something else will come along.”

“ _Yeah, but when? I’m good at this job. It pays what I need. I’m qualified, too – and that’s the worst, you know? I studied hard – and I freaking loved studying, Cas. Like, almost as much as Sam does. But I was never gonna go down the classroom-tenure route like he did, I just wanted to work right away. But I’m qualified. My skills fit this job just right. I’m basically leading the team now, ‘cause I know more than all of them put together. But—_ ”

He breathed, unsettled, then finished, sadly, “ _I have no reason to keep learning. I hate being an expert. Weird as it is, Cas, I kind of like making mistakes. I like being told where I need to improve, and knuckling down to impress someone. Sounds crazy, huh._ ”

“Doesn’t your being an expert impress people?”

“ _Uff! Yeah, right. It annoys the shit outta them. I hate being the ‘umm, actually...’ guy. That’s Sam’s deal. It works for him, he has the puppy eyes. Me, I just get people gritting their teeth and smiling nicely. And I swear I used to be smoother with people, too. This job’s sucking the good vibe outta me, man. I gotta cut loose._ ”

“What would you rather be doing?” Castiel asked, pulling Clarence into his lap, plucking at his tattered ears in turn. “Where would you rather be?”

“ _Honestly? I’d take freezing my balls off in Siberia over this. I wanna help people, always have, but not like this. Telling people to turn their computer off and on again a hundred times a day drives me_ nuts _._ ”

“Really, though,” Castiel insisted. “What do you want from life?”

Dean took a while to ponder, then exhaled, “ _I wanna go on adventures. Movie-style adventures with danger and drama and a big emotional revelation, not rock-climbing with all the equipment and a Go-Pro. I wanna— I wanna fall in love, and save people, and hunt things. Things like – monsters. I dunno._ ”

“Or cryptids,” Castiel pondered, eyes drifting to the framed alien eggshell beside his bed. Dean had found him an empty one, and mailed it over. “The strange and the unexplained.”

“ _Yeah._ ”

Castiel swallowed, looking down at Clarence. He gave Clarence a soft, squishy hug, chin in his fluff, wishing he could hug Dean just as easily. “I miss you, Dean.”

Dean’s silence seemed upset. “ _Yeah. Wish I was there with you, man._ ”

“What would you do?” Castiel asked, smiling. He set Clarence aside and asked again, cool hand stroking the back of his hot neck. “What would we do together if you were here?”

Dean chuckled. “ _You know._ ”

“Kiss me?” Castiel asked.

“ _So freaking much._ ”

“Make me dinner.”

“ _How’s high-class Ramen for ya?_ ”

Castiel laughed, head back, leaning until he rested on the wall. He smiled up at the skylight tunnel in the ceiling, where daylight poured like a waterfall. He’d hung his pothos plant up there, so it gathered the light and grew contentedly.

“I’d pull you into bed,” Castiel said. “And wheel the TV close, and we’d watch something—”

“ _And then ignore whatever it is, and get busy under the blanket._ ”

“Eventually, yes,” Castiel agreed. “First we’d cuddle for hours.”

Dean made a soft, embarrassed sound, which was also a happy sound.

“Hours,” Castiel said again. “Hours and hours.”

“ _Stoooop,_ ” Dean laughed, his voice muffled. “ _Gross, Cas._ ”

“Oh, like cuddling wasn’t part of your ideal first time,” Castiel scoffed. “I recall what you said with impeccable detail.”

Dean snickered.

“But then we would,” Castiel said, gently. “We’d take all our clothes off, and snuggle up under the covers. And touch... And kiss...”

Dean gulped, Castiel heard him.

“And I’d... wrap myself around your body, and sink _deep_ inside you,” Castiel whispered, his voice deepening. “Just like you wanted. I’ll play with your hair, I’ll hold your hands. And I’d tell you I love you, and mean it.”

Dean’s breath stumbled, almost a sob.

“I’ll do it, Dean.” Castiel gave an assuring smile, even though Dean couldn’t see. “The moment I get back to you, I’ll give you what you want.”

“ _C-Can’t we...? Over the phone...? I have lube and a toy._ ”

Castiel shook his head. Dean had asked so many times, to listen in when Castiel touched himself, or to turn their conversation dirty, presumably so Dean could pleasure himself as they spoke. But always, Castiel declined. At first it was because he wasn’t certain about being intimate over the phone, but now it was because he _was_ certain: Dean might ask, but they both knew: “It’s not what you really want, Dean.”

Dean began a breathy complaint, but Castiel interrupted, “You want to wait, Dean. You want it to be perfect. I can give you what you want in person, but you have to be patient.”

“ _Aw, come on. Perfection is overrated,_ ” Dean complained. “ _It doesn’t have to be exactly what I want, Cas, y’know? It just has to be you._ ”

Castiel’s heart leapt. That was a new revelation – and a splendid one, too.

“ _It just... has to be... you,_ ” Dean repeated, as if hearing his own words for the first time, awed. “ _Holy shit— Wait—? I love you? Oh my God. I love you._ ”

Castiel laughed, head down. “Yeah?”

“ _Yeah! I’m in love! WOO!_ ”

Castiel threw his head back and laughed deeply again, hand on his stomach, sharing Dean’s jubilation and finding it hilarious at the same time.

“ _Shit. I gotta text Charlie! I gotta tell her. Oh my God, this changes everything._ ”

“Does it?” Castiel asked, head tilted. “In my experience, being in love with you has changed absolutely nothing.”

“ _Well, that’s not exactly—_ ” Dean paused, and Castiel grinned, waiting for his response. “ _You’re in love with me?_ ”

“Oh, did I say that?” Castiel gave a wicked grin. “My bad. Must’ve let it slip out without thinking.”

Dean chuckled warmly, almost a giggle.

It went quiet for a while, Dean and Castiel simply basking in each other’s love.

Then Dean laughed again, and uttered, “ _Okay, I’m gonna go. Text Charlie and go to work and whatnot._ ”

“You do that,” Castiel said. “Call again in the evening?”

“ _Always._ ” Dean licked his lips. “ _’Kay. Bye._ ”

“Bye, Dean.”

“ _Love you?_ ”

Castiel nodded. “Love you too.”

They hung up together. Castiel wore a wide smile, and he was absolutely sure: Dean wore one just the same.

  
**⁂**  


**AUGUST**

“ _Don’t look._ ”

Castiel squinted at his laptop screen. “You started a _video_ call. You’re out of frame. And you’re telling me not to look. What is it I’m _not_ supposed to be looking at?”

“ _I’m not ready yet, okay?_ ” There came some grunting, and a rustle of fabric, then a sigh. “ _Ahhh, come on, come on—_ ”

“What is it you’re showing me?” Castiel asked, trying to peer around the corner into the screen, before remembering that screens didn’t work that way, and feeling silly. “Your bedroom looks very nice today. I don’t think many people could pull off brown walls but your decor seems to work with the sunlight.”

“ _Not the bedroom, Cas._ ” Dean’s breath caught, released, then eased away slowly as he calmed himself. “ _This._ ”

Dean stepped into the frame – showing pink quiff down to bowed thighs – almost naked, his hands hugging the back of his neck shyly, his chin down but his eyes on the webcam so he made eye contact with Castiel.

“Oh...” Castiel took in the sight: Dean’s makeup was done excellently, black eyeliner, a glitter cut-crease, and fake lashes – but more intriguingly, he wore tight lingerie, garter straps on his thighs and panties hugging his hips. There was a black collar around his neck with a strap attached, like a dog leash. It hung limp down his chest, without anyone to pull it.

Dean sucked his glossed lip, one shoulder rising. “ _Well?_ ” he asked, shifting in place. “ _What d’ya think?_ ”

Castiel beckoned. “Come closer, let me see the makeup.”

“ _Not that, Cas, the other stuff. The— The outfit._ ”

“Oh. Um.” Castiel took another look. “It looks nice?”

“ _Like, sexy nice?_ ”

Castiel tilted his head. “Is it supposed to be sexy?”

“ _Yeah, Cas!_ ” Dean sounded annoyed.

“It—” Castiel shrugged.

“ _Cas, come ooonnn,_ ” Dean complained, hands flopping down beside his sides. “ _This shit’s hot on girls. Are you_ so _gay you can’t figure out it’s hot on guys too, or what?_ ”

“It just looks like underwear to me,” Castiel said, still not sure. “Is this not what you wear all the time?”

“ _Only when..._ ” Dean smirked, rolling a shoulder, “ _I walk my feet up the wall._ ”

Castiel suddenly rushed with heat and realisation, arousal tingling through him. “Oh.”

“ _Yeah, oh. You get it now?_ ”

“You’re showing me something intimate and exciting for you,” Castiel said, voice so low it made his throat ache. “This is what you weren’t sure about sharing before. This is what you ‘dress up’ for. This is— Oh, _this_ is why you wanted to learn to do your makeup so intricately. I did wonder.”

Dean grinned now, hands back behind his neck. He swung his hips a little, then laughed and batted a hand towards the webcam, dismissing that movement as ridiculous.

“Is it a performance?” Castiel asked. “Like drag?”

“ _No... no, uh,_ ” Dean came forward, sitting at his dresser, grinning as he sank a hand into his hair, mussing it. His long, thick lashes were truly something to behold, as was the glitter on his eyelids. His lips has never looked plumper, nor shinier. “ _I don’t know, really. It just feels good. Really,_ really _good._ ”

“Make you happy?”

“ _Yeah._ ” Dean’s eyes shone. “ _Sometimes it’s sexy. But sometimes it’s just_ nice _, you know? Relaxing. God, I don’t know, I feel weird talking about it._ ”

“Do you have a different name when you’re – like this?” Castiel asked.

“ _Pff, no. Just, uh. Same old Dean. Just prettier._ ”

“You’re always pretty.”

“ _Shuddup._ ” Dean hung his head, smiling and blushing – Castiel recognised his movement even without seeing colour on his cheeks. “ _Thanks._ ”

“Your makeup is beautiful,” Castiel said softly. “You’ve come a long way.”

“ _Been practising a lot, so,_ ” Dean shrugged.

“It shows.” Castiel smiled, leaning close. “Thank you for dressing up for me, Dean. I like seeing this part of you.”

“ _Which part?_ ”

“The part that you try not to show other people.”

Dean wet his lips, understanding, but wanting to argue. “ _It’s not that I hide it, exactly? And it’s not like it’s purely a kinky thing. It’s like. Just private. You know? Like a hobby. And I just wanna get better at it, and get a decent feel for what it’s like, before I go around advertising my secret costume wardrobe to the world._ ”

“Would you tell Sam?”

“ _Oh, hell no. But he’s seen enough badly-glued fake eyelashes lying around that he probably guessed by now, anyway. We don’t talk about that shit._ ”

Castiel chuckled.

“ _No, but,_ ” Dean went on, eyes up, wiping a fingertip under one eye, then looking at the dark smudge on his finger, rubbing it away with his thumb as he added, “ _when I first started this dress-up thing, I figured it was a fetishy thing. Or a newly-out thing. Pff, maybe I wanna be a girl deep down, God knows. I thought, objectively, it was hot to pretend. Right? But there was always part of me that was more relieved than turned on, and I couldn’t figure out what that meant. But now?_ ” He shrugged and looked carefully at Cas on his own laptop screen. “ _It’s none of that, Cas. It’s just_ fun _. I like how it looks. And you know how I figured that out?_ ” He answered before Castiel could: “ _From hearing you talk about your own makeup. Just. You’re not tryna get ‘feminine’, whatever that means. You don’t put on ‘guy’ makeup, or ‘girl’ makeup, you just put on makeup. For the hell of it._ ”

Castiel smiled, proud of Dean for figuring that out without being told explicitly.

“ _Same reason Uncle Bobby gets pedicures at the salon,_ ” Dean said. “ _And when I was a kid he used to sit down and watch anime with me and practise Japanese. Yeah, now I’m all grown up, in some other context, that same shit could be sexy if I was by myself. But with Bobby it was just an innocent good time._ ”

Castiel didn’t completely follow that train of thought, but he nodded anyway, as Dean seemed pleased with what he’d said. “Okay.”

“ _Anyway, the point is, I’m cute as hell, and also fuckin’ hot, and if you were gonna come over and mess me up while I’m wearing this, I’m good with that._ ”

Castiel laughed softly. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean waggled the handle of the leash in the webcam, smiling behind it. He let it fall, still smiling. “ _How long until you’re home?_ ”

Castiel was confused for a single moment; he was already home. But then he realised what Dean meant, a drew a breath. “Ah.”

“ _What? Why’d you hesitate?_ ”

“It— No, it’s okay. Um. Soon. Before Christmas.” Castiel said it with confidence but inside he wondered if he could really manage such a thing. “I wish you didn’t need to wait so long.”

“ _Hey, we’ve done nearly eight months, Cas, what’s four more?_ ” Dean’s smile hovered at the exact middle point between strained and hopeful. “ _We’ll make it._ ”

Castiel breathed out. “Yeah.” He examined his thumbnails, hands curled together before his laptop keyboard. “Dean, can I ask you something?”

“ _Uh-uh?_ ”

“If...” Castiel rubbed his forehead. “If I were to stay longer. Would you still wait?”

Dean’s smile had fallen by the time Castiel looked at him. “ _How much longer?_ ” he asked.

Castiel shrugged.

“ _What would waiting entail?_ ” Dean asked.

Castiel shrugged again. He sighed, eyes down. “I don’t expect you to wait forever,” Castiel admitted. “I’d... I’d understand, if you wanted... to find someone else. At least for physical comfort. I’ve seen how squashed that penguin looks now. You’re sleeping with it every night, aren’t you?” His sad smile spread, aching on his face.

“ _Cas?_ ”

Castiel looked up.

Dean smiled, soft and loving and patient. “ _Don’t know how to tell you this, man... but I would fuckin’ wait forever._ ”

Castiel’s smile wobbled, then fell, and his hand slipped to hold it in place, but it was already gone. He shut his eyes and clenched them tight, fighting back tears. But one sniff, and he began to shake, in relief, and gladness, and joy.

“ _You’re it for me, Cas,_ ” Dean said kindly. “ _You live out your dreams for as long as you need to. I’m not going anywhere._ ”

“But you—!” Castiel looked up, his vision blurry. “What about your dreams, Dean?”

“ _Hey,_ ” Dean whispered. “ _I’m closer to what I want than I’ve ever been in my life. Don’t worry about me._ ”

Castiel sniffed, leaning back as he wiped wetness from his eyes and cheeks. “I miss you so badly, Dean. And that feels like madness to say, given I know you so much better through the screen than I ever did in real life. I even miss Sam and I’ve never met him. God, I miss _Natasha_.”

Dean laughed. “ _That’s saying something_.”

“Just— Just promise me, when I get to you... you won’t be disappointed if I have to leave again.”

Dean gulped. “ _Can’t promise that._ ” He shifted, then nodded. “ _But... I can come with you._ ”

Castiel froze.

Dean grinned at the screen. “ _Food for thought._ ” He winked. “ _Bye, Cas._ ”

“Bye— Wait, what—?! Dean!”

The screen went black as the call ended. Castiel panted a few times, hurriedly wiping his eyes again in case he’d missed something. “Come with me?” he asked himself.

He started to smile.

He looked away, head buzzing with possibilities.

  
**⁂**  


**NOVEMBER**

“ _Not meaning to freak you out, or anything,_ ” Dean said, waggling the lit match in his hand until it went out, “ _but are you sure it’s safe to light candles way underground? Sure you’re not gonna burn up your air supply?_ ”

“This is absolutely fine, Dean,” Castiel said, finally getting his own candle to light, matching Dean’s on the other side of the screen. “I’ve burned candles many a time down here and I’ve never had a problem. They make the cold nights so much cozier.”

“ _Tell me about it,_ ” Dean grinned. “ _So,_ ” he said, arms folded with his hands on his elbows, leaning close to the screen. “ _What do we talk about now?_ ”

“Well, what do we usually talk about on dates?” Castiel asked, pushing the candle just far enough that he wouldn’t knock it. “We have our dinner, we have candles, you have your Led Zeppelin cassette playing.”

“ _You can hear it from there?_ ”

“‘Whole Lotta Love’, I believe,” Castiel said, squinting to hear. “It was on the mixtape you sent.”

Dean grinned, hand over his eyes as he blushed. “ _Don’t listen too close to the lyrics._ ”

“Too late,” Castiel smiled, as the words _I'm gonna give ya every inch of my love! I'm gonna give ya my love!_ came through the laptop speakers. “It seems appropriate, no?”

“ _Sure, bud,_ ” Dean said. With his fingertips, he pulled his dinner closer into frame, and took up a fork to start eating. “ _How’s the casserole?_ ”

“Would be better if I hadn’t burnt it,” Castiel said, one side of his face tense as he chewed.

“ _Tastes pretty good to me._ ”

Castiel smiled as the song filled an eating silence: _Shake for me girl! I wanna be your backdoor man!_

“Dean,” Castiel said, as Dean crammed mouthful followed by mouthful into himself. “How long were you waiting to eat?”

“ _Whah?_ ” Dean lifted his head, pasta sauce red on his lips. “ _Hang on, I need seconds._ ”

He rushed away, scraped more food onto his plate, then returned to eat as quickly as he’d eaten the first serving. “ _Mhh.... mhh—_ ”

“Were you waiting all evening?” Castiel asked, sorry-eyed. “Oh, Dean...”

“ _What, it’s fine,_ ” Dean said, lifting his plate to lick it, then disappearing again to get thirds. “ _God, this stuff is good. Tell your Santa’s-helper friends their recipes are awesome._ ”

Castiel sighed. Then he smiled, remarking, “There’s so _much_ I’m not allowed to say about what I’m doing here, and what I discover. So there’s a lot I’ve had to keep secret from you. But did I ever tell you about the CEO?”

“ _Who, Santa?_ ”

“Not Santa, as it turns out,” Castiel grinned. He kept eating, letting Dean splutter and exclaim and make confused noises.

“There’s an old story... not as old as the tale of Saint Nicholas, but set in a time before him,” Castiel began. “It originated in Italy. They say, on the night before baby Jesus was born – in the manger, the stable, whatever people call it – the three wise men came looking for him.

“And they met an old woman, who they asked for directions. She hadn’t seen the holy star rise, so she didn’t know where Jesus would be. But she gave the wise men shelter for the night, gave them food and water. She was so kind, that before the men went on their journey, they asked her if she would accompany them. She said no; she had too much to do at home. And so they went on their way.

“But this woman – Befena was her name – she instantly regretted her choice. This was supposed to be the son of God they were going to meet, this magical child! How could her daily tasks be more important than that? So she packed a bag, and made gifts, and set out to follow the wise men, and find the baby Jesus.

“But,” Castiel continued, sucking sauce from his thumb as he finished the last of his meal, “Befena couldn’t see the star, and didn’t know where the men went. She looked and looked but couldn’t find the baby Jesus. But she found other children on her search, and instead gave them the gifts meant for the holy child.”

“ _Okay, interesting,_ ” Dean said, carrying his laptop into his bedroom. He sat at his dresser, a warm golden task light on beside him, and leaned in with his chin on his hand, listening.

Castiel went on, “Every day, she made another gift, and every night, she set out to find Jesus, but ended her night bestowing her gifts to other children. And so it went on, and on, and she became legend. As there are always more children, she still delivers gifts.

“Some say she rides a broomstick, and flies through the sky. She wears a black cloak, all sooty, as she comes down the chimney. And she carries a bag full of gifts and toys, one for every child. She enters a house, and sometimes cleans it before she leaves; she loves being a housekeeper almost as much as she loves delivering gifts.”

Dean stared in silence at Castiel, still red-lipped from his meal. “ _So the company you work for..._ ”

“La Befana,” Castiel said. “But the employees are known as Santa’s little helpers.”

“ _You’re a fuckin’ Christmas witch,_ ” Dean muttered. “ _What I wouldn’t give to see a stiff broomstick between_ your _legs, cowboy, goddamn._ ”

“Dean,” Castiel chided, head down as he smiled. “Is that really necessary?”

“ _Absolutely._ ”

Castiel rolled his eyes, but grinned. “Someday, if you’re lucky, Dean... hmm, I might come down your chimney.”

Dean bit his lip. “ _I’ll bet._ ”

Castiel sighed through his nose, smile fading. “I’ve asked for time off, Dean. I’ve requested to return to the States for Christmas.”

“ _Really?!_ ” Dean almost stood up in his excitement. “ _So you’ll be home by then?_ ”

“Unfortunately it’s not so simple; we’re in the middle of an overhaul of the giftbox programming and it’s not going so well. It’s already late November, so we have less than a month until the project has to be completed.” Castiel ran both palms over his face, exhaling. “If I leave, they’ll have nobody to lead the team, and the entire project will need to be shelved until next year. This was my assignment, this whole thing—” Castiel peered out at Dean, hands still framing his face. “I came up here to train steeds, but the second I suggested this to my superiors, they accepted the idea and I’ve ended up taking on a wholly different project.”

Dean thought back. “ _This has taken most of the year, hasn’t it?_ ”

Castiel nodded. “This idea? It was yours, originally. Noncorporeal gifts.”

Dean smirked, but he didn’t seem surprised. “ _Knew you’d take it on board somehow._ ”

“Dean, I need—” Castiel grasped his hair, and asked, pleadingly, “help. I need tech support.”

“ _What’s the problem?_ ”

Castiel took a sharp breath, then laughed it out again. “We can’t fit the concepts into the boxes. The bigger the box, the less they fit. It seems to be some kind of universal metaphor for ‘less is more’, at least that’s the going theory. An emotional gesture in a big box starts to shrink down, overwhelmed by the space it needs to fill – expectation versus reality – and a big gesture in a small box starts to spill over, and once corporeal, it takes the form of eternally-expanding bubble-bath foam, smothering everything it touches.” Castiel scowled, rubbing his forehead. “I shouldn’t be surprised, but it really is _very_ hard to squash the concept of love in a physical cardboard box. A concept only wants to behave like a concept.”

Dean remained dumbfounded for a few seconds, then asked, tentatively, “ _Have you tried turning it off and on again?_ ”

Castiel chuckled. “We’ve started the whole project over sixty-four times now.”

“ _What? No-no, I mean... The boxes, maybe. Get them to neutral. Turn them off. I don’t know if this makes sense, but— Make them worry less. Give them a pep talk? Tell them they’re fine as they are, and they’re loved just the way they are. They don’t need to be any bigger or smaller. They’re just the right size for what’s inside them._ ”

Castiel squeezed his eyes tight shut.

Dean chuckled. “ _Okay, sorry, I know that was stupid—_ ”

“No, it’s not stupid,” Castiel said. “I’m just maddened that I didn’t think of that before.”

“ _What, really? Cas, it was bullshit._ ”

“Yeah, and we’re talking about a bullshit box full of bullshit,” Castiel said, eyebrows raised, tired eyes gazing at nothing as he sighed. “People say aloud they want something, or they think they want something, but they really want or need something else. You crave chocolate but you really need the magnesium from green vegetables. People say they’re an extra-extra-large but they’re a medium. You, Dean; you said aloud you wanted a new phone but deep down you wanted to be loved by a man. I once decided that if I had a fun job, a relationship, and a subscription to _Whacko!_ I’d be happy, but what I really wanted was to leave everything behind and hide in an ice hole with a pile of magic boxes. It’s not the boxes that need a talking-to, Dean, it’s us. Us useless, biased, lying humans. We’re the ones opening the boxes to check what happened. And when we open them, we screw them up, because what we’re expecting isn’t what wants to manifest.”

“ _Schrodinger's magic Santa box?_ ”

“With a hefty dose of repressed desire, yes,” Castiel sighed. “What we really need is someone to test the boxes, someone who’s spent so long dealing with wanting something and not allowing themselves to have it that they finally flipped and just accepted anything about themselves that could ever come up. And they’d look at a box and open the box and the box would _know_ what to give them, because they actually know what they want. And we can go from there. Once we have a box that works for one person, we can figure out how to make it work for other people.” Castiel palmed his forehead. “But where do we _get_ someone like that.”

“ _Gee_ ,” Dean said, dragging a pair of pink lacy panties into the laptop frame, eyes down as he lifted them to show off their shape, the front having been stretched out over time by his medium-sized penis.

“ _Gosh_ ,” he added, eyes rolling slowly as he reached out to grab something, and lifted it to buckle it around his neck: the collar he liked wearing that Castiel still didn’t quite understand the purpose of.

“ _Jinkies,_ ” Dean droned, patting his cheeks with a fluffy brush, head turned this way, then that. “ _Whoever could it be...?_ ”

Castiel smiled. “To be fair,” he said, “it _was_ your idea to begin with... Of course I didn’t say I’d let you on the sleigh last year, or revealed to you all our secrets... but I _did_ tell my superiors that noncorporeal gifts were... my American boyfriend’s idea...”

“ _Aaaand I know what I mean to create, and therefore know when I’ve done it...?_ ”

“That too.”

Dean threw up his hands. “ _Give me a fucking job already,_ God _._ ”

Castiel quirked an eyebrow. “Is that how you act in your job interviews?”

“ _Look, man, I work to deadlines, I’m fun, and I make shit that refuses to work take a good look at itself and then decide to work properly of its own accord. I’ve learned a lot, I’m always learning, and one thing I’ve learned – in a fair, controlled, personal experiment, I might add – broken things work better if you swear at them. Far as I’m concerned that’s four good reasons why someone oughta – A – hire me, and B – either overlook or embrace the fact that my top three words in the English language are all banned in schools._ ”

“Oh?” Castiel smiled. “And what are your top three words in Slovene?” he teased.

“ _Sesati mojo rit, Cas._ ”

Castiel had heard Dean’s preferred usage of Slovene too many times to be taken aback. “Maybe later,” he purred.

Dean grinned, flushed and bright-eyed. “ _Seriously, though. Job?_ ”

Castiel pursed his lips. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  
**⁂**  



	4. Chapter 4

**DECEMBER**

In some ways, this felt like Dean’s first Christmas season. His first _real_ Christmas, anyway. There’d been times in motels with toilet paper trees, and there’d been dorm room decorations consisting of one set of twinkling lights. Then there’d been years and years of nothing, and no drive to make that nothing into something.

Then Cas happened. Along came Santa’s magical, blue-haired little helper, and his apple-loving moose, changing everything forever.

So now, one day shy of a year since Dean’s big adventure with Cas, he had a real tree. He had fairy lights on his bookshelves, and maroon placemats on the dining table with golden holly-leaves adorning each of the napkins. The dining table had been moved into the living room, where the lights were softer, the tree was visible, and there was enough room to fit a chair for everyone.

Seven chairs.

One for Dean, Charlie, Gilda, Sam, Sam’s girlfriend Sarah, one for Uncle Bobby...

And one for Cas.

Despite the festivity, and the crooning winter music filling the apartment with warmth, Dean felt something was missing. It was pretty obvious what it was missing, so he didn’t waste time wondering.

By the afternoon, he’d spent hours acting so sullen that Sam had run out of ways to cheer him up, and eventually sought to pass the task on to someone else, asking, “What time is Cas coming over?”

Dean hadn’t told him. He hadn’t told anyone. He’d talked about inviting Cas, and setting a place for Cas, and having wrapped a gift for Cas, so it seemed obvious to his family that Cas would, at some point, be arriving to share their meal.

Uncle Bobby looked up from his place on armchair, shaggy grey eyebrows rising as he waited for an answer that took too long to come.

Dean busied his hands with the silverware, making them perfectly parallel.

Charlie came in with a plate of cheese and crackers, still chatting to Gilda. “—And when Cas gets here we’ll have the roast, it’s done but I left it in the oven in case—”

“We oughta start now,” Dean said, shrugging. He plucked at his henley collar, feeling phantom itches on his chest; guilt and hope were still vying for space in his heart. He took his seat near the end of the table, leaving the head open for Bobby. He unfolded his napkin, then let go to hover a hand over the seat next to him, uttering to Charlie, “Cas is sitting there.”

Charlie took the next seat down, and Gilda took the next one.

Dean chewed his tongue, sad eyes watching the surface fill with food as Sam and Sarah brought plate after plate to the table.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t wait?” Gilda asked Charlie, deliberating over pulling out her chair. “I know it’s a long trip back from Siberia but he must be almost here by now. Coming by sleigh at least means there’s no airport security to contend with.”

“I’m just excited about the moose,” Charlie smiled. “I saved _so_ many apples from being put into Dean’s pie.”

Dean chuckled, but the laughter died in his throat almost immediately. “Let’s just eat.”

Charlie and Gilda both looked over at him.

Bobby grunted, leaving his armchair and approaching the table. “You and your boyfriend have a fallin’ out?”

Dean scoffed, unable to make eye contact. “No. Come on. Nothin’ like that.”

“He is... _coming_ , though, right?” Sam asked, slowly enough to make it clear he’d already figured out the answer.

Dean gulped. “It’s fine,” he smiled, putting on a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed look. “We can just have a nice meal, hang out with the family – yeah, it’s Christmas Eve, nothing’s gonna bring us down today.”

The room went quiet for just a moment, only the sound of a lone viola vibrating through the air.

“Yeah,” Sarah said, putting a spoon into the bowl of crunchy stuffing bites. “Everyone sit! We can start now. And if Cas shows up, then there’ll be plenty left over for him.”

Dean smiled, and kept smiling as everyone tucked in.

Conversation rolled easily through the ears, rumbling and chuckling amidst the clink of glasses and the chop of knives on plates. Sam’s “Oh, yes, I’d like peas,” and Charlie’s “Oh, shoot, the gravy!” blurred into Dean’s mind along with Bobby’s mutters of “Hell, my wife did it better. But that’s not sayin’ much. You did good, kid.”

Dean’s smile grew, then shrank, and he lowered his eyes again. The food was good, and the company was good. He still enjoyed this. He was still brimming with love, of course he was. But there was simply no escaping the clench that wouldn’t leave his stomach, because Cas said he’d be here by noon on the day _before_ Christmas Eve, and here it was: Christmas Eve. Almost two o’clock in the afternoon.

This wasn’t the sort of tardiness that ought to leave Dean worried Cas was in trouble, nor excuse it by blaming it all on air traffic or faulty portals. This wasn’t Cas’ fault, either; he said he was trying to leave Siberia for Christmas, and Dean believed him. If anything, it was Dean’s fault. Trying so hard to make the world a better place, he’d gone and given Castiel more work than he could handle, and it was keeping him busy.

By now, recipients’ gifts were being put into the sleighs to be delivered all over the world. There was no word yet on whether they were rolling out the boxes containing noncorporeal gifts or not. Perhaps they’d all been recalled before release, and that was what delayed Cas. Or perhaps they were going to be delivered but there was a problem. Dean had no way to know.

Distantly, away from the conversation at the table, Dean heard a _ding!_

He turned his head, ear pricked for a repeat sound.

_Ding!_

His skin tingled. Cas had messaged his phone. Dean began to pine for it, wanting its weight against his thigh, so he could sneak a hand under the table and take a look. But he was being _polite_. It was common courtesy not to peek at his phone while Christmas dinner was in session.

_Ding!_

Dean ceased eating. He watched his family, wondering if they were too involved with the dinner he’d made to notice if he slipped away.

_Ding! Ding!_

_Ding!_

“Oh my _God_ , whose phone is that?” Charlie yapped, looking towards the noise. “Sam—”

“It’s mine,” Dean said. He patted his napkin on his lips, standing. “Sorry, guys.” He smiled and hurried towards the couch, snatching the phone from the back. “I’ll turn it off.”

“If it’s Cas, ask if he wants turkey or ham,” Sarah said. “We can save both if he wants.”

Dean shook his head, opening his conversation log with Cas.

[ **I wasn’t sure whether to surprise you or not** ]  
[ **But when it happened it was just as much a surprise for me** ]  
[ **I was drafted to deliver gifts tonight but I halted the project and took leave instead** ]  
[ **And my leave was granted. They’ve cancelled the rollout.** ]  
[ **I’m at the bus stop between Mercury and Sixth** ]  
[ **< 3** ]

Dean felt like he was glowing. Toes curled, heart aflame, skin burning brightly. He laughed under his breath, looking to his family, wanting to tell them but forgetting how to speak.

_Bloop!_

Dean looked down and saw a new message had come in.

[ **It’s very cold** ]

Breathless, Dean rushed to the table and uttered, “I gotta— I gotta go. Cas, he’s— Snowing, so. Scarf! Scarf.” Dean grabbed his scarf from the back of Bobby’s armchair. “Coatcoatcoat—” Dean ran to the door and put on his winter coat. “Shoot—” He looked at his family, realising he hadn’t explained properly.

But they all began to smile, waving and making encouraging noises. Dean burst into a grin and fled the apartment, before running back, hopping on one foot to pull on his boots. The others laughed, and Dean grinned, and then left again in a rush.

He ran down the stairs and into the street, rummaging in his pocket for his car keys. But his pocket only had wool gloves, so he pulled those on, apologising to his Impala as he ran past, sweeping snow from her roof. This end of Mercury Drive wasn’t the long end, so Dean ran as fast as he could to the corner, laughing and grinning as he sped through the snow, slipping on ice but never needing a moment to balance before flying to the next patch of well-trodden mush.

He reached the corner, and almost slipped off the sidewalk, legs paddling to keep him upright; he grabbed a wall and breathed, kept moving; he ran on, past frosted ivy and peeling posters and someone’s garden gate, where a blackbird perched, chattering at him as it darted away in fright.

The bus stop was in sight. The sun bathed the crossroads in gold, the roads were clear, and the world was a pretty pastel pink, fading to blue frost at the edges. Everything twinkled sweetly. But Dean got closer and closer, but saw nobody at the bus stop.

He slowed to a jog, then walked. He looked around. White trees, white houses, white roads dug deep with white lines.

Soft, unerring silence.

The hush of the wind stirred Dean’s senses: blissful whispers of snowflakes tickled up from their resting places, swirling in circles before settling again.

Dean wondered if he had the wrong bus stop.

He pulled out his phone and called Cas. He was still out of breath, clouds rushing from his mouth in golden, sparkling blooms.

“Cas,” he said into the phone when Cas picked up. He looked around again. “Where are you?”

“ _Hhhksk...kffk—_ ”

Dean stuck his left finger in his ear to hear the phone better. “Cas?”

“ _Kkh connection’s— skghkh—_ ”

Dean frowned, unable to make out a full sentence. “Cas, I can’t hear you.”

“ _I’m going to hkhck—_ ”

Dean grunted and lowered his phone, hanging up. He grasped his hair, looking around one more time in desperation. If Cas wasn’t here, where was he?

A deep, low hum drew Dean’s attention. He looked down the road, wondering if it was a car... but there was nothing there. Then— Twenty feet away, the pastel world began to glisten, then wobble; a beaming circle appearing in mid-air in the centre of the road. Dean gasped, running closer. He recognised a portal when he saw one.

The circle of pink and yellow turned white, spitting glitter sparks; out came a great, beastly, horned shape, nine feet tall. Zām. And then – riding on his back—?

Dean raised his arms, laughing as he ran to Castiel, reaching him as the portal closed.

Castiel smiled, blue-haired and beautiful, leaning down to take Dean’s hand. With Castiel’s strength, Dean set his boot in the stirrup on Zām’s side, hauled onto the massive saddle on the moose’s back, arms around Castiel. Dean kissed his warm neck, kiss kiss kiss, nuzzling side-to-side with his nose.

Castiel breathed out a soft laugh, turning at the waist. His eyes met Dean’s, and he exhaled, contentment in his smile. “Hello, Dean.” He kissed Dean on the lips, fingers holding his chin.

He turned back quickly; it wasn’t comfortable to twist. But he reached for Dean’s hand and held it, wrapping both arms around his waist. Dean hugged him from behind as they walked along, high above the ground. They jingled with every step, and swayed left to right, making their way down the road.

“So,” Castiel said, lifting Dean’s hand to kiss it, “where are we going?”

Dean kissed Cas’ shoulder. “Home. My family wants to meet you, I’ve been talking about you all year.”

“Do they know?”

“What, about the moose? The fairy realm thing? Yeah. Not that they all believe it – Bobby still thinks it’s all a big gay metaphor, but yeah, I told them.”

They hugged tighter.

It didn’t take long to get back to Dean’s apartment on a steed as tall as this. Dean pointed up at his window proudly: this year, his was the brightest rectangle up there, the glass was stuck with paper snowflakes, lights twinkling from inside. The tree was even partially visible from the road.

“You gonna park your moose?” Dean asked, as they halted behind the Impala.

“Yes,” Castiel said, holding Dean’s hands and helping him down, then dropping to the snow himself, Dean’s hands on his waist. They kissed in Zām’s shadow, arms around each other.

Dean sank into the familiarity of it, as well as the novelty. It was like Cas had never left, but at the same time, this was all new. They’d kissed, but they’d never kissed like this. And somehow it felt like they’d kissed like this every night for months. Deeply. Slowly. Breaths warm on each other’s cheeks.

Cas tasted like cranberries, Dean remembered his taste from a year ago.

Parting at last, grins wide, Castiel patted Zām on the rump and said, “Remember you’re a car, please.”

Zām snorted, and stepped onto the sidewalk to eat the neighbour’s holly bush.

Castiel shook his head and sighed, following Dean inside. “You can train a moose as much as you like, but he’ll always be a moose. A nice one. But still a moose.”

Outside Dean’s apartment door, Dean unwound the scarf from his neck, looking at Cas. Here he was, this magical, amazing man. He didn’t seem real, purely because he was three-dimensional now. Dean was used to falling more and more deeply in love with his laptop screen, not a real person in high definition with hooded lids and chapped lips and _oh Lord_ – eyes like the noon sky on the best day of the year.

Dean kissed him once more, because he could. Castiel laughed, letting Dean dip him and kiss his throat; Dean’s thighs burned as he lifted Castiel back upright. Dean whispered into his ear, “I love you.”

Castiel gazed at him, adoration rounding his eyes and softening the corners of his lips. “I know you do.”

“Not saying it back?”

Dastardly, Castiel leaned close to whisper into Dean’s ear: “Wait for it.”

Dean’ heart tripped over itself as Castiel opened up the apartment door, and led Dean inside.

A cheer went up from the family, Charlie’s arms in the air, Sarah grabbing Sam to make him look. Bobby lifted the brim of his baseball hat, grunting a greeting.

Dean stepped inside, smiling as he hung up his coat. “Guys,” he announced, taking Castiel’s trenchcoat too, “Um. This? This is Castiel. Cas, meet the gang.”

Castiel gave a small bow. “Good to meet you. Hello. Hello.”

Dean chuckled, hand behind his neck. “So. You know Charlie. This is Gilda, her wife. And there’s Sammy’s girlfriend Sarah, and there’s Sammy—”

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel said.

“Hey!” Sam looked delighted.

“And Bobby,” Dean gestured, grinning when Castiel bowed again.

“Holy bananas, Batman, look! There _is_ a moose!” Charlie shrieked, hands on the window. There was a stampede as the others flattened themselves to the window one-by-one, all wanting to get a look.

Bobby grunted. “Just looks like a battered-up old Continental to me.”

“Oh, really?” Castiel said. The others looked at him, fascinated by his tone of voice. Slyly, Castiel raised one hand, and snapped his fingers. “Look again.”

Bobby looked again. He gasped.

“Speechless,” Sarah realised. “Bobby’s speechless— Let me _see_!” She stole a look, and fogged up the window with her breath. “Oh my goodness.”

Sam took pictures, while Charlie cackled, pouring herself a drink.

“Castiel, do you want some lunch?” Sam asked as he left the window, still beaming. “There’s plenty left over if you want—”

“Oh, no, thank you, I’m not hungry yet,” Castiel smiled. “But thank you all the same. Actually, Dean and I have some private business to attend to right away—”

“We boo?” Dean asked, mouth stuffed with one of Sam’s sugar cookies. “Whap bishnuss?”

“We have to have sex immediately,” Castiel stated. “Which way is your bedroom?”

Folding forward, Dean thumped his chest to unchoke himself, fighting to swallow his cookie instead of coughing it out. The others had grown raucous, laughing and making amused, embarrassed remarks, which Castiel seemed totally oblivious to. “Dean, are you all right?”

Dean nodded, coming up for air. He took the glass of water Sarah handed him, and gulped it down, eyes on the ceiling. “Hmmm.”

“No, really,” Castiel impressed to Gilda, having heard her mutter curiously about his plans. “Dean’s been especially patient all year, and I did promise to make love to him the moment I got back—”

“Okay, okay, message received, stop talkingghh,” Dean breathed, both hands patting the air. “Please, please, stop talking.”

Sam was in stitches at this point. Sarah had a fist in front of her lips to keep a laugh from spilling out. Bobby had left the room, Dean had no idea where he’d gone. Charlie was already putting her boots on, chuckling to herself as she used Gilda as a body support.

“Am I not supposed to be open with them?” Castiel asked, as he realised everyone was preparing to leave, and laughing as they did. “I thought you came out.”

“I did, Cas,” Dean smiled. “But. You know, we don’t have to— Not right _now_ —”

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel frowned. “ _Right_ now.”

“But, Cas, we really don’t have to. I’m not crazy-desperate for it right this second—”

Castiel shut Dean up with a kiss. “ _I_ am.”

Dean’s lips rounded around a soft, “Oh.”

Castiel dipped his eyes, sucking his lower lip. He cleared his throat, and smiled politely to the crowd on their way out. “Thank you very much for coming, happy holidays, merry Christmas – thank you, thank you—”

He shut the door with both hands, and Dean rubbed his forehead, hearing laughter erupt in the apartment hallway. Soon the footsteps receded; undoubtedly they were all going to pester the moose.

“Was that not appropriate?” Castiel asked.

Dean just grinned. “Who cares?” he asked, kissing Cas. “Let’s get naked.”

  
**⁂**  


Castiel followed Dean’s leading hand as they left the living room, passing the kitchen and bathroom, finally entering Dean’s bedroom. Dean turned to shut the door, pressing Castiel into it in the same movement. Castiel kissed Dean first; hands in his pink hair, scrunching away gel. Dean gasped into Castiel’s mouth, and Castiel grinned through it, taking Dean’s bottom lip between his teeth, plucking it, letting it free the moment Dean fell back, eyes gleaming, dark, hungry.

Dean took off his henley with his arms crossed, tossing the top over his shoulder. He magnetised back to Castiel as Castiel fumbled to unbutton his own shirt, until Dean took over, nimble fingers followed by kisses on Castiel’s clavicle.

“You’re beautiful,” Dean whispered, one hand cupping Castiel’s neck, his lips kissing the other side. “And you smell amazing, dude.”

Castiel grinned, stroking Dean’s hair. “ _You_ smell delicious,” he replied. “But that might be the Christmas dinner. The herb aroma is in your hair.”

Dean snorted. “C’mere.” He tugged Castiel towards the bed, kicking away his henley so Castiel didn’t trip. Nibbling his lip, he let go of Cas and looked down to watch himself undo his jeans, shucking them off to the carpet. He eased down his boxers, too – Castiel saw he was half-hard already – then Dean turned for a dresser, pulling out delicate, strappy, lacy things. “Which one d’ya want?” he asked, showing Castiel something red, then something pink. “What gets ya going?”

“Dean,” Castiel smiled, going up to Dean and taking his waist under both hands, stroking him, then turning him away from the dresser when he wouldn’t look away. “Just you. You’re enough for me.”

Dean smiled, eyes shut as he let Cas kiss him softly. “My box is just the right size for your noncorporeal gift, huh?”

“I don’t need the wrapping,” Castiel said. “But if you want to ‘dress up’ – if that helps you – then do it. You want this to be perfect, so let’s make it perfect.”

Dean pondered, fingers trailing a black garter with a bow at the end. “Um.” He shrugged and looked back to Castiel, shrugging again. “Guess I don’t _need_ to...” He slid both arms around Castiel’s neck, leaving them dangling behind his back. They kissed, lips sealed around twin smiles, breathing out. “Jush youhhh,” Dean whispered into their kiss.

They stood for a while, absorbed in each other’s saliva tang, skin under palms; a real human scent, warmth and presence. To Castiel, this felt like a too-good dream, something he’d fantasised about so many times that making it real was almost overwhelming. Despite being in trusted hands in this moment, he feared doing something wrong, putting a word out of place. Even his thoughts on Dean’s lingerie felt odd now they were said; he wondered if he’d made Dean compromise on something he didn’t want to compromise on.

But even so... Castiel had only spoken the truth. He didn’t need Dean to wear anything in particular. He didn’t even need him naked. Being close to him and looking into his eyes felt like enough. If Dean turned down the opportunity to dress up, he must have felt the same.

Dean broke the kiss, finishing the task of baring Castiel’s chest, sweeping away his shirt completely. Dean purred, hands on Castiel’s chest; he massaged, and Castiel chuckled, sliding his hands over Dean’s to move with him, holding his knuckles and tendons in his warm palms. Dean soon dropped away to unbuckle Castiel’s pants, and Castiel sat down to take them off, his weight bouncing on Dean’s mattress.

Dean giggled and threw himself down beside Castiel, sprawled on the tidy sheets, one leg cocked, his hand stroking himself to make himself harder. “You look real sexy from this angle, Cas,” he said, eyes roaming Castiel’s torso. “Your shoulders are super wide from the front, but real slim from the side, you know that?” He reached out with both his legs and wrapped them around Castiel’s middle, slender, bowed thighs bracketing Castiel’s navel and lower back. Dean groaned playfully and scooted closer, pressing his bare ass to Castiel’s hip, while Castiel reached with his left hand to stroke through Dean’s hair.

An expression of bliss came over Dean’s face – not sexual pleasure, but gratitude, and mirth. He looked like he was about to fall asleep for a moment, breathing slowly, hand going still on his erection. He sank into Castiel’s touch, and hung there, accepting the affection.

Blindly, eyes closed, he reached for Castiel, and pulled him by his bicep, down, wanting him to lie close. Castiel wriggled to get comfortable beside and behind Dean, and Dean lay on his side, facing away, but turning his head back for a kiss. Castiel lifted his torso a bit, craning over Dean to kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him some more, right hand stroking his stomach, his nipple, his stomach again, then threading through his pubic hair. It was brown now, but Castiel knew it had been pink, once. By tonight, it would be pink again, just as Castiel’s would be blue – but Dean didn’t know that yet.

“What are you grinning at?” Dean asked, grinning back, eyes full of love and worship.

“It’s a secret,” Castiel said, pecking Dean’s bristly chin. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Hmm.” Dean groaned as he rolled over, facing Castiel now. They lay still, enraptured by the sight of each other – naked bodies forgotten, too lost in each other’s eyes. Dean caressed Castiel’s jawline, his ear, his right sideburn. “Is it weird that I still miss you?” Dean asked, eyebrows shaking, then steadying. “I want you to be enough, Cas. Desperately, I— I want to be happy right now, but—?” He frowned, nuzzling up against Castiel’s chin. “I still want...?”

“Heyy.” Castiel kissed Dean’s cheek, whispering back, “That’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with that, Dean. You’ve waited for this so long, it makes sense you’d only be maddened by being _this_ close and not having what you want. Tell me what to do, I’ll do it for you.”

Dean snorted, smiling. “Oh, like you weren’t taking notes all year.”

Castiel felt his eyes twinkle. “Hm.”

“How about you tell me what you’re gonna do,” Dean said, booping Castiel’s nose with a fingertip. “And I agree to it and let you do it, right here, right now.”

Castiel pressed his forehead to Dean’s, both sharing the same pillow. “Well,” Castiel said, his voice lowering as he went on, “I’m going to find your lubricant—”

“Top drawer behind you.”

“—And I’m going to find a condom—”

“Same drawer.”

“—And I’m going to kiss you, Dean,” Castiel smiled, feeling Dean’s breath catch a tiny bit, halted over his lips. “And slowly, carefully, slip my fingers into you—”

“Skip that part.”

Castiel opened his eyes. “Pardon me?”

Dean bit his lip impishly, shrugging. “Told you I had a toy, didn’t I? I’ve put in the practise.” He rolled onto Castiel suddenly, sinking down with a deep kiss, rumbling in his chest and stealing his breath, returning it a moment later, flustered. Without looking away from Castiel, he stretched out, opened the drawer, patted around, then dropped both a bottle and a packet of condoms on the bed; Castiel heard the _glup_ and the _spichk_ simultaneously. Dean’s eyes were dark and deadly serious, locked to Castiel’s. He squirmed on his lap, pressing his buttocks to Castiel’s quickly-growing erection. “Auh,” Dean sighed. “C’mon. Let’s do it.”

Licking his lips wet, Castiel moved to take the lubricant, while Dean snatched up the condoms, bottle snapped open as Dean tore into silver foil. Castiel waited until Dean had the condom the right way around, holding the tip, before Castiel poured lubricant onto his palm – then paused to groan, as Dean rolled the condom down him. It pinched and felt cold, but Dean tugged on it to seal it down, breathing raggedly, hips rocking in his eagerness. He looked dizzied, his focus intent but his eyelids half-hooded, then slipping closed. Castiel wondered if he saw as much colour and fizz behind his eyes as Castiel saw every time he blinked.

Dean yowled in pleasure as Castiel touched him with his wet hand, slicking his ass, circling his rim. “Caaaas,” he cried, head lolling to the side. “Auuhhhh, shit.... shit...”

Castiel laughed, lubricating himself too. “I’m ready for you, Dean,” he whispered, voice thick and aching in his throat. “Are you ready?”

“ _So_ ready,” Dean uttered, breathing heavily as he arranged himself above, weight on his hands for a moment before he gasped, breath hitched— Castiel grunted, mouth open, eyes set on Dean’s as they sank together, Dean’s hole stretching wide as Castiel waited, frozen, trying to be patient as Dean got used to the thickness.

“You weren’t kidding,” Dean breathed, a flicker of distress on his face. “Extra-extra-large.”

Castiel would have laughed, but he took Dean’s waist in both hands, steadying him. He hadn’t sunk all the way down, still hesitating and clenching around the meaty middle of Castiel’s erection. He was too tight; Castiel could feel he was too tight. “Are you okay?” Castiel asked.

Dean nodded, breathing out through narrow lips as he tried to sink down, but yelped and stiffened. His erection had flagged a little.

“Dean, pull up, we’ll stretch first,” Castiel said, stroking his waist. “It’s okay.”

“N-no I want—” Dean shivered, frowning. “Please, come _on_ —” He tried to sink down again. He was just impatient, Castiel could see he was becoming more and more desperate to get what he wanted – he’d waited a year, after all. But Castiel wasn’t having it: Dean was in _pain_.

Castiel rolled them both over, making Dean sob; once the bed took Dean’s weight, Castiel pulled out. Dean sighed in relief, but then got cross, and his glare seared a hole in the ceiling, teeth gritted.

Castiel chuckled, kissing Dean’s pout. “Give it a few minutes, Dean. Look at me?”

Dean looked at him, and his eyebrows leapt as he felt Castiel’s fingers sink inside him. “There,” Castiel said, scissoring his fingers, twisting them to push against Dean’s hot, clenching rim. “Do you like that?”

Dean shivered, trembling; he started to breathe in gasps, hands rushing to Castiel’s shoulders and holding on, his body sinking and pushing into Castiel’s fingers. Castiel grinned, and Dean mirrored his grin, eyes falling shut. Pleasure cleared his expression a split-second later, and he whimpered, legs twitching. He bent his knees, hips working to make Castiel sink deeper, make him bend towards Dean’s prostate.

“Cas,” Dean breathed, eyelashes fluttering. “Aah... Cas, I think...?”

“Sshh,” Castiel soothed, kissing his neck, his ear. “What do you think?”

“I—I think?” Dean’s breath caught again, and a sharp yip escaped him, followed by a quiet cry of ecstasy. “Oh, shit, I’m gonna come— I’m gonna come, Cas—”

Castiel lifted his head in surprise. “Are you sure? We haven’t even started.”

Dean looked at him, distraught, wide-eyed; he hummed a short note, eyes locked on Castiel’s; lip bit, his body tensed up, legs tight. Castiel tried not to move his fingers but it was too late; Dean had reached orgasm, splashing semen onto his chest and stomach and inner thighs. “Ouhh—”

“Oh, Dean,” Castiel groaned lowly, almost chiding, but still soft and sweet. “So soon?”

Dean sobbed, tense and shaking. He clenched one more time, another drop of come easing from his tip, and then he collapsed, spent.

Castiel looked at the scene, dumbfounded. Then he laughed, rolling his eyes, easing his fingers out of Dean. He lay beside him, kissing his shoulder, over and over, each one slower and longer than the last.

“Hmmmm,” Dean complained, fighting to open his eyes. “Hmm.”

“Didn’t you have other plans?” Castiel asked, amused. “Or was this the plan all along?”

Dean grunted. “Fuck you.”

Castiel laughed, nuzzling. “ _That_ definitely wasn’t part of the plan. Maybe if we waited an hour or two.”

Dean grunted again, batting Castiel’s chest with the back of his hand, both affectionately and annoyedly. “Why’d you hafta go make me come so quick, huh?”

Castiel pursed his lips, sorry yet smirking. “Did it really feel that good?”

Dean gulped, then answered, dry-mouthed, “We waited too long, Cas.”

Castiel held Dean, and kissed his forehead, having to admit it was true. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “You couldn’t help it.”

Dean sighed. “Yeah.”

But Castiel pressed his condom-clad cock against Dean’s thigh all the same. Smiling against his ear, he muttered, “You know, nobody said _you_ had to be hard.”

“Truuue.” Dean smirked. “Get in me, big guy.”

“I didn’t finish stretching—”

“I kinda...?” Dean rolled a shoulder. “I kinda like that it hurts.”

“I don’t want to injure you.”

“Then go slow.” Dean looked at him with confidence and a gentle, tired smile. “Real slow. Okay?”

Castiel licked his lips, then nodded. “Okay.”

He lined himself up with Dean’s body, as Dean lay on his back this time, legs raised to hang over Castiel’s shoulders. Dean held Castiel’s gaze, breathing slow enough to calm them both.

This time, Castiel sank in with his eyes shut, a pleased smile tilting his lips. When he opened his eyes, Dean was looking back at him, quietly delighted. He let out a puff of air – pain – but let himself relax, and Castiel did not move, only let Dean get used to his size.

Castiel held Dean’s hands, both of them, thumbs stroking his lower palms. Dean didn’t mind a dirty, slippery hand, nor sloppy kisses, nor the guttural, droning moan Castiel let out as he moved a fraction of an inch accidentally.

They remained unmoving for a good three, maybe five minutes, doing nothing but lying together, interlocked, Dean straining and sweating and breathing erratically, Castiel doing the same but for the opposite reason. For being so still, it took a lot of effort. Despite Castiel’s occasional burst of pleasure, Dean seemed to be enjoying himself even more. He’d grunt in pain, and then squeak in delight, apparently feeling two somewhat-conflicting emotions from the same sensation.

“Okay,” he said, while Castiel was busy contemplating Dean’s eyelashes. Dean gulped, and nodded. “I’m ready. Go slow.”

Castiel was stunned by the instruction. Excitement stung him, and the anticipation was almost as electrifying as climax itself – until he realised the true reason he rested his forehead on Dean’s chest, moaning deeply, hands sweating, spine curving as his hips moved only the slightest bit. He smiled, and laughed out one note, kissing Dean’s neck, because he was about to come, and if he moved even an inch, it would all be over.

Dean combed his thick fingers through Castiel’s sweaty hair, leaving multiple partitions that Castiel assumed were glowing, tracks of bliss across his scalp.

“I thought you wanted to move,” Dean whispered.

“We waited too long,” Castiel replied, half-sobbing, breath corrupted against Dean’s heart. “ _Auhh_ hh, Deeeeannnn...”

At last, Dean realised the problem. He chuckled, and the shake sent sparks through Castiel’s lower half. “Come in me,” Dean said. “Right now, just do it.”

“But—” Castiel looked up. “But you had plans. _We_ had plans. We talked about this all year, I really did take notes. You wanted it to be perfect, Dean.”

Dean tilted his head, smiling, an almost pitying look crossing his face. “Cas,” he said softly. “Are you kidding me? This _is_ perfect.”

Castiel pleaded with him, eyes only, body quivering. But Dean’s gaze was so strong, his trust so deep, his hand so soothing in Castiel’s hair. Castiel understood why Dean wanted his hair played with now. It felt incredible, and by God, it wasn’t helping at all.

“Do it,” Dean whispered again, smiling. He took Castiel’s cleaner hand and kissed his knuckles. He rearranged his hips against Castiel, and the jiggle made Castiel yelp. “Do it, Cas.”

Castiel nodded, settling closer, starting to roll himself into Dean. Push, push – his vision began to blur, his breath short. Dean moaned, enjoying Castiel’s discomposure. As Dean breathed through his smile, Castiel smiled back, blind, and groaned against Dean’s temple, _keening_ , breathing, not breathing—

Dean moaned, feeling the last thrust as Castiel filled the condom, filling Dean. Castiel held him tighter, wanting kisses, and cooing to himself as Dean gave them without being asked. Dean mumbled praises, sweet things, and tickled Castiel’s ear with his whispers. “Wasn’t that awesome, Cas? God, I love you. I love you so fuckin’ much, Cas. This was perfect. Oh my God, this was fuckin’ perfect.”

Castiel snuggled his face against Dean’s neck, relaxing into him at last, back aching, arms burning. Dean stroked his back, kissing his shoulder.

“Mm luhh mou,” Castiel murmured, face squashed against Dean’s shoulder.

Dean hugged him tighter. He laughed softly, lovingly.

Castiel blinked a couple times, then repeated, purring into Dean’s ear, “I love you. With all my heart. And Dean, you have no idea how _much_ I mean that.”

Dean just smiled, rocking his head to rest his nose on Castiel’s, eyes full of wonder. “You love me to Siberia and back?”

Castiel hummed, eyes rising playfully. “Mm? One way.”

“That’s half as much, dude.”

“No.” Castiel smiled, rolling up to look down into Dean’s curious eyes. “More than you can imagine.” He kissed him, pulled out slowly, then promised, “You’re coming with me.”

Dean seemed confused for a moment. Then his eyes widened, his world widening with them.

Castiel chuckled, grinning as he and Dean rolled over in the bed once more, Dean on top, holding Castiel’s head to make sure he _saw_ the astonishment and shock in his eyes. “I can come to Siberia?” he asked.

“It’s a job,” Castiel said. “Tech support.”

“But for magic boxes that nobody can figure out.”

“For magic boxes, yes,” Castiel smiled. He laughed, eyes closing as Dean rolled onto his back alone, whooping with his arms rising, hitting the headboard and kicking the sheets out of bed.

“I’m going on an adventure! Whoo!” Dean rolled back, and Castiel only now noticed how his pink hair was sex-ruffled, his cheeks red with delight, eyes still as dark and luscious as a shadow.

Dean kissed Castiel’s cheek, jaw, chin, murmuring sounds as he did. Neck, throat, clavicle, chest.

There he rested, cheek on Castiel’s heart, arms around him. Castiel wriggled down to lie eye-to-eye with Dean, and they hugged like that – cuddled, in fact – safe and happy in each other’s embrace.

“Was this really perfect?” Castiel asked, looking into Dean’s eyes. “We did none of the things you wanted. Not the lingerie, not the makeup, not me behind you, sinking in deep and moving quick. Not even that collar with the leash— Which I still don’t quite understand, by the way—”

Dean rested a fingertip on Castiel’s lips. “You think I waited a year for you to get here so I could put things _on_? Cas—” He kissed him, then explained, “ _You_ , just you – whatever we do, however it goes – you’re always gonna be enough for me. Alright? Maybe your, uh... extra-extra-large _gift_ , doesn’t fit in my medium-sized box. Not right now. But we can figure that out.” He let go of a breath. “I like all that other stuff, Cas. But I love you.” He smiled, eyes shut, completely content. “Yeah. It was perfect.”

Castiel accepted that. He stroked Dean’s hair, and held his hand, relieved they’d at least managed those easy, affectionate things. He cuddled ever-closer, and kissed him, and whispered, “It was perfect for me, too.”

Dean seemed a touch relieved, like he’d been waiting to hear that, but was tentative to ask.

“Spoon me,” he demanded, rolling over and backing up into Castiel.

Castiel complied, kissing Dean’s neck and shutting his eyes.

After a couple of gentle, silent minutes, Castiel started to relax more, sinking into a cozy, dark mindspace, filled with Dean’s sex scent and the fabric softener he’d used on his sheets. He was warm in Castiel’s arms, hands comfortable together. Castiel felt Dean falling asleep too.

“Hmm,” Castiel murmured, kissing the back of Dean’s neck. “No sleeping. Only a little nap. We have business to attend to.”

“Hm?” Dean was half-asleep but queried, “Wha’ssort of business.”

“We have—” kiss, “—gifts to deliver. Yakama Indian Reservation this time.”

Dean gave a happy hum. “Do Native Americans believe in Santa?”

“You know, I don’t think it matters,” Castiel answered, giving a renewed hug. “We deliver regardless.”

Dean rolled over, looking at the ceiling. “What if someone wanted something that was handmade by their grandmother. Is _that_ what’s in the box? Does the grandmother take one look at it and say ‘hey, I never made that shit’? What if that grandmother died years ago? Does the box make it look like the thing was lost and found? Or does it look brand new? How the fuck does this _work_?”

Castiel sighed, burying his face in the pillow. “ _Why_ do you ask so many questions.”

“How can you _not_?” Dean yelped, hands out above him. “Doesn’t it madden you not to know?! I want to read the rulebook! And look at every crazy sleigh blueprint you guys have stashed away! Gah!” Dean clutched his hair, kicking his feet. Fire-eyed, he snorted, and looked at Castiel. “Nope. No time for naps. You and me are getting in that goddamn sleigh of ours and we’re going to deliver the gifts. And _when_ we have three hours to spare at the end, we are going to find out _every. fucking. thing. there is to know_.”

Castiel made a noise of complaint, but Dean was already out of bed, picking up his clothes.

“Cas, come _on_ ,” Dean said, clapping his hands.

Castiel raised his middle finger, planting his face deeper in the pillow than ever before.

Dean laughed. “Ayyhhh. Okay. You take a nap. I’m— Showering. Making dinner. Then getting the fuck outta here.”

Castiel grunted.

He was sure Dean left. But then he felt his presence hovering close, and Castiel turned his head – and smiled when Dean kissed his cheek.

“I love you,” Dean muttered.

Castiel eyed him as he left. “I love you too,” he called. He lay comfortably, smiling at Dean’s open dresser drawers, then the makeup scattered on the top. Then at the rumpled bed. “So very, very much,” he sighed, in absolute delight.

He shut his eyes, and let himself fall asleep.

  
**⁂**  


“Sam.... Psst! Sammy, wake up!”

Sam murmured, rolling over on the air mattress he shared with Sarah. He scrunched his eyes tighter shut, as he’d rolled into a bright moonbeam.

Dean grinned, crouching beside his brother, patting his shoulder, then shaking him. “Sammmyyyy...”

“Nh?” Sam sat up slightly, looking narrow-eyed at Dean, who spread his arms, proud of himself. He wore his leather jacket rather than his winter coat, but also his scarf, and a Santa hat with a pompom, and a grin that probably twinkled in the moonlight – at least he hoped so.

“What’re you doin’ back here, I thought you were delivering gifts,” Sam mumbled, sitting up properly, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Where’s Cas?”

“Dean—” Castiel entered Dean’s darkened living room wearing a Santa hat of his own, wiping his palms together, “I’ve finished in your room but I may have broken your... toy.”

Dean laughed quietly, pushing up to his full height, sweeping out an arm to pull Cas in for a kiss. “Mwah! Got you, though, don’t I? Don’t need it anymore.”

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel said, eyeing Sam as Dean kissed his cheek again. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Sam smiled. “Are you delivering here?”

“Just on our way out,” Dean said, hands shoved into his pockets. “Figured it would be a waste if we didn’t say hey-ho before we headed off for good.”

“Whuh,” Charlie mumbled from her place on the couch. “Is thah Dean?” She lifted her head, saw Dean and Cas and Sam, and smiled widely. “Oh heyyy.”

“Happy Christmas, Charlie.” Dean took off his hat and plopped it onto Charlie’s head. “Look after that for me, would ya?”

Dean cast a sullen look in Castiel’s direction, but when Castiel smiled back, encouragingly, Dean sighed, rubbed his lips, then uttered, “Hey, listen. Guys. Me and Cas. After this. We’re kind of—”

Charlie sat upright, snatching off the hat. “You’re not coming back, are you?”

Dean glanced towards the hallway, where a suitcase was packed, mostly Castiel’s doing. Dean had been busy leaving a message in magnetic letters on the fridge: _Luv you all 4ever, u dipsh!ts <3_

“Almost certainly within a few months,” Castiel said softly, eyes on Dean. “Dean wouldn’t be able to go without seeing you for too long.”

Dean cocked his head and smiled, hands sinking deeper into his pockets. Cas wasn’t wrong.

Sam untangled his neverending moose legs and stood up, arms falling to wrap tightly around Dean’s torso. Dean shut his eyes and leaned into his brother, sighing slowly.

“You’re taking your coat, right?” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” Dean grinned. “Promise not to freeze to death.”

He drifted from Sam, taken into Charlie’s embrace. Dean shut his eyes and breathed in deeply, squeezing his friend. “Tell everyone else bye from me.”

Charlie was smiling as she pulled back. “Happy adventuring.”

“You too.” Dean nudged her under her chin, and laughed when she laughed.

Dean took a breath, standing beside Cas, gazing at him, heart floating.

“Are you ready?” Castiel asked, taking Dean’s hand.

“ _So_ ready,” Dean whispered.

Castiel glanced to Sam and Charlie. “Look out your window.”

“When?”

“Now,” Castiel said to Charlie. “Go on.”

Sam and Charlie both went to the window, looking down into the street. “There’s the moose,” Charlie said. “But—” She looked back, then took Sam’s arm and shook him. Sam looked too; Dean and Cas were gone.

Outside in the street, Dean toppled into the snow, gasping. “Nope! Nope-nope-nope, never, ever _ever_ do that again,” he uttered, shaking his head as he got up, stumbling towards the sleigh, almost falling twice. “Fuck portals. Nope.”

Castiel chuckled, climbing into the sleigh beside Dean. “Do you want to drive?”

“After being squashed into a non-existent-dimension and spat back out in the freezing cold? You gotta be kidding me.” Dean threw a glare over his shoulder, happy to see that at least his suitcase was safely in the sleigh. He folded his arms and glared at the back of Zām’s head.

“Apologies,” Castiel said, eyes on Dean. “I thought you liked the magic.”

“I swear you used to pretend to be a _little_ bit human,” Dean said, as the sleigh pulled into the street. He turned to wave at his apartment window, seeing Sam and Charlie’s hands move as they waved back. “Now you’re just opening portals everywhere and letting people see the moose.”

“Does that upset you?” Castiel asked, confused.

Dean grinned, shaking his head. “Naw! Naw, come on, not even. It’s awesome, are you kidding me?”

“Then—?”

Dean pouted, wrapping his arms around himself. “It’s freakin’ _cold_. Need to brace myself.”

Castiel threw back his head and laughed, then rolled his eyes and tossed an arm around Dean’s shoulders. “Okay,” he said. “If I’m going to transport you into the snow, I’ll warn you first.”

“Better.”

“Do you want to check in?” Castiel asked, handing the walkie-talkie thing to Dean.

Dean pressed the button, hesitating, then speaking: “Uhhhh. Hi. This is – sleigh number—”

“Four-four-two,” Castiel said.

“Four-four-two,” Dean repeated, Castiel Pom— Pomynik—”

“ _Pomočnik_!”

“Pomočnik, and Dean Winchester – jeez, sorry, man! – uhhh, checking in? We wanna take off now, is that okay by you? Uh. Over.” Dean released the button, and then waited for a response.

Castiel smiled. “So,” he said, squeezing Dean one more time, then sliding his hand back to hold the reins. “How are you looking forward to your new job? Overhauling the entire gift-giving process?”

“Mm—”

The dashboard screen glowed red, and the mission control officer said, “ _Sleigh four-four-two checked in and cleared for takeoff. Time is twelve-sixteen. You’re late. Giving you portal permission to make up for lost time. Over._ ”

“Oh, hell no,” Dean said into the receiver. “Lady, you rescind that permission right now. No goddamn portals.”

“ _Um. No offence, but how do you intend to reach your destination on time without them?_ ”

“Drive fast,” Dean said. “Real fast.”

The lady seemed just as amused as Castiel. “ _Be my guest, newbie. Over._ ”

Castiel hung up the walkie-talkie, grinning.

“Oh, shut your cakehole, would you,” Dean said.

“I said nothing,” Castiel replied, lightly. He clacked the reins, and Zām pulled the sleigh into Mercury Drive, trotting, then cantering, then _galloping_ down the makeshift runway. Dean breathed out slowly, calming himself.

“You did say fast,” Castiel reminded him.

Dean grunted. “And I did ask for an adventure.”

Castiel stretched out a hand for Dean to hold, looking at him, waiting for him to take it.

Dean gulped, then snatched it up, squeezing. “In answer to your question,” he said, voice shaking, “am I lookin’ forward to the job?” He tilted his head quickly, as the sleigh started to skid on the snow, leaving the ground for moments before sliding back down. “Depends. Do I get dental?”

Castiel hummed. “We do get tooth fairy coupons, yes.”

Dean laughed nervously, eyes shut as they took off, soaring into the air, his ears popping, his heart racing, his hand sweating in Castiel’s.

He opened his eyes, and saw the spilt-glitter sky, the moon smiling at him, and, as he looked to his right, Castiel, twinkling blue hair and twinkling blue eyes.

“I was kidding,” Dean admitted, as their ascent levelled out, and Dean could peer down at the city below. “I got enough perks as-is.” He smirked, nudging Castiel’s shoulder with his own. “Boyfriend as a sleighmate? Pretty good one.”

“Roommate, also?”

“And that.”

“Bedmate.”

“That too.”

“Life... mate?” Castiel asked.

Dean grinned. “You think there’s a chance I’d say no? What does that well-refined instinct of yours tell you, Cas? Do I wanna spend my _whole_ entire mortal existence by your side?”

Castiel nodded without hesitation.

Dean winked back. “You got me, Cas.” Taking a refining breath, he reached to take the reins from Castiel. “Now,” he said, as Castiel chortled and sat back. “Let’s see how fast this baby can go.” He snapped the reins, cried, “Hi-yah!” and howled exhilaration into the night as they became a streak of light, shooting across the sky like a comet.

  
**⁂**  



	5. Epilogue

**SIX DAYS LATER**

“Caaas?”

Castiel still typed on his laptop by candlelight, legs stretched out on their bed, eyes down. “Yes?”

“Don’t look.”

Castiel glanced up at their shared quarters, peering through the open, curved doorway to the ensuite bathroom. There was just enough evening light easing through the skylight tunnel for him to sense a shadow moving in there. “What is it I’m not supposed to be looking at? I can’t see you.”

“Gimme a second,” said Dean’s disembodied voice.

Castiel put his laptop aside on his nightstand, arms folded over his middle as he waited.

“Cas?”

“Yes?”

“Can you put Clarence and my penguin in the cupboard or something?”

Castiel started to grin. “Ah- _hah_.”

“Yeah.”

Castiel got up and lifted Dean’s penguin under his arm, then picked up Clarence too. “So sorry,” he said to them both. “Apparently whatever I’m not meant to be looking at is not for your eyes, either.” He shut them both into his dresser drawers. “Okay,” he called to Dean, back turned to the doorway. “Can I look?”

“Mm-hm. Turn around...”

Castiel turned – and his heart leapt, his smile emerging bright. Dean snuck out from the bathroom, fingers parting the beaded curtain, a beautiful lipsticked smile rising into a grin. His bandy legs were darkened by black stockings, held up by garters with little bows, the straps pinned to his panties. His lashes fluttered, his freckles aglow under his blush. “Well?” he asked, running his hand self-consciously through his pink hair.

“Gorgeous,” Castiel said plainly, going up to him, taking him by the hips. He kissed his nose. “Ravishing.”

“Mm?” Dean eyed Castiel’s lips, as if imagining how they might feel under his own. “You wanna work your magic, hot stuff?”

“Would I fit inside you this time?” Castiel asked, making Dean grin.

Dean pecked him on the lips, keeping close to whisper, “Easily.”

As Castiel stepped back to start undressing, Dean hesitated, then went to fetch something else from the bathroom. He came back just as Castiel was folding his jeans, and gave that same something to Castiel. Castiel found his hands around a leather strap. His eyes followed it up, and met with the thick collar, buckled around Dean’s neck.

“As much as I appreciate you wanting to share,” Castiel said, as Dean undid his button-down shirt for him, “I genuinely don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this.”

“Make it up,” Dean said, too sultry to be a joke. “What do you wanna do with me?”

Castiel supposed a leash was for pulling, so he pulled it. Dean got closer, quiet delight in his eyes. Castiel pulled it again, and Dean was close enough to kiss, so Castiel kissed him, slowly... deeply. Dean purred from his chest, the very start of a groan.

“Ah— On— On the bed?” Castiel wondered, teasing the leash that way. Dean did as he was directed, dark-eyed, the tip of his tongue on his lower lip, upper teeth showing in a soft, pleasured grin.

Dean knelt on the mattress, hands on his hairless thighs, thumbing at his stockings. He looked at Castiel with total expectation and no indication he had plans of his own. He was a little devil in black, exquisite among the patina of the curved walls and the trailing fronds of pothos plants, all hung from the ceiling or sitting comfortably between the books in the wall alcoves.

Castiel had handled Zām’s reins so many times that he naturally wrapped the leather around his hand for stability, turning at the wrist. Only when Dean’s breath fluttered in anticipation did Castiel realise he’d done the same with Dean’s leash.

“Where do we go from here?” Castiel asked, standing close enough to feel Dean’s eager breaths on his bare chest. Castiel caressed Dean’s jaw, thumbing his lips apart, then letting Dean suck his thumb. Dean shut his eyes and moaned, lips rounded by the thickness of Castiel’s thumb, head bobbing as he worked it. “What do you want from me, Dean?”

Dean let Castiel’s thumb free, making it drag wetness along his cheek. His exhale was hot and humid, eyes ravenous. “I wanna watch.”

“Watch what?”

Dean cocked his head towards the bed. “Walk your feet up the wall.”

Castiel smiled, eyes shut, head bowed. Of course. Of course Dean wanted that. “All right,” Castiel said, wrapping the leash around him a second time, keeping Dean close. “Take my underwear off.”

Dean did as he was told, the sturdy metal rings connecting his collar to the leash jangling as he moved to denude Castiel. Castiel stepped in bare feet onto the fluffy rug, then dipped the mattress as he knelt onto it, walking on his knees towards the middle of the bed. Dean followed on all fours, bound to him, eyes locked on him.

Maybe he wanted to be a beast. An animal. Castiel really didn’t know. But Dean moved like a cat and behaved like an obedient dog, awaiting commands, staying pressed to Castiel’s side.

“First I lie down,” Castiel said, as he did so, head towards the foot of the bed. With his free hand, he pulled two pillows to nestle under his lower back. “Then...?” He looked at Dean, perhaps for reassurance. Dean admired Castiel’s form, wearing the smallest smile that waited to grow. Castiel let out a breath, and scooted himself so close to the headboard that his ass almost touched it. “I walk.”

Foot to the wall. One; two. He kept his eyes on Dean, as Dean kept his eyes on him.

The curve of the wall made it easy to bend his legs; Castiel’s lower half bent, knees apart beside his ears, his semi-erection dipping onto his chin. Castiel grunted and sighed, wriggling himself around to get comfortable, and at last, opened his mouth, and used his free hand to place his cockhead into his mouth.

“Shit,” Dean beamed, watching Castiel’s tongue lap out to stroke his own cock. “You actually can. Guess bein’ extra-extra-large helps, huh.”

“Mh.” Castiel gradually got hard in his own mouth, eyes closing as waves of pleasure started to sink through him, head to toe – or floor to ceiling, as he was basically upside-down. He bounced a little, and the shake of the mattress helped him sink over his tongue, his breath starting to shorten. He groaned softly, sucking, sucking... His eyes darted to Dean, wondering what he thought.

Dean had squeezed a hand over the bulge in his panties, clinging to the black fabric but only getting it wet, not touching himself. The tension of his grip made it clear he was hard; his erection strained at the waistband, producing a dark circle that grew a tiny bit as Castiel looked.

Mouth busy, head clouded by sex, Castiel’s gaze fell to the leash around his wrist, still strapped around his palm. He gave it a good tug; he had no intention, but he felt a powerful rush as Dean toppled closer, breathless. Castiel had to spit out his erection, taking a breath, unable to grin and suck at the same time.

“What do you want now?” Castiel asked.

Dean’s eyes shot to his own erection, lips quickly licked.

“Show me, Dean.”

Dean shuddered as he revealed his erection, wet at the tip, as pink as his lipstick. Such a beautiful little thing.

Suddenly, the most delightfully dirty idea came to Castiel, and he started to scheme, wondering if it were possible. He decided it was.

“Dean,” Castiel said firmly. “Here’s what you’re going to do.” Dean prepared to listen, eyes on Castiel’s, undistracted by the flickers of the candles or his own arousal. “You’re going to get a condom.” Dean’s eyes lit up, but then Castiel continued, “And you’re going to put it on _yourself_.”

Dean’s expectations were shattered, and surprise gave way to confusion, then realisation, then deep, overwhelming arousal. His eyes went to Castiel’s pulsing cock and contorted body, and his breath began to shiver.

“Oh-h-okay,” he managed, trembling. “Okay. I can—” He nodded.

“Can do you that for me?” Castiel asked, and Dean nodded again. “Good.”

He let go of the leash so Dean could go, and he smacked his ass as Dean turned around to get up. Dean looked back, grinning, and Castiel mirrored his grin.

“Do you get it now?” Dean asked, bending to rummage through the top drawer in Castiel’s rattan nightstand. “The collar thing?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel pondered, watching Dean find a roll of condoms, standing straight to tear one off the end. “Am I doing it right?” Castiel let his legs flop down, the backs of his thighs on the headboard, heels resting on the wall. He sighed as his backache disappeared. “Is there anything else I’m meant to _do_... or, or... say? Call you?”

“What, like ‘kitten’?” Dean laughed, crawling back onto the bed.

Castiel raised his eyebrows as a firelit thrill danced through him, watching Dean fumble with his condom. “Would you enjoy being called ‘kitten’?”

Dean paused, halfway through rolling down his condom, eyes set on Castiel. “Only if you growl at me.”

“Growl?”

Dean gave another of his open-mouthed smiles, one shoulder rolling upward as his head tilted briefly. “I think you know what I mean.”

 _Do I?_ Castiel wondered.

He kept wondering as Dean crawled up to him, dark-eyed. Castiel returned to his previous position, continuing to wonder, his body folding in half so he could guide his cock into his mouth, eyes shut in bliss as he began to suckle.

He was still wondering as Dean plucked him open with slippery fingers, and Castiel’s moan shook his own soul, eyes rolling back in his head in his pleasure. He felt like the ouroboros, endlessly circling pleasured thoughts but unable to reach an end.

Castiel let his cock flop from his lips, wanting to moan aloud. His deep voice shattered to a flat, high sound, and his face tensed, vision dizzied in the candle-flicker darkness. “Deeean...”

“Yeah,” Dean whispered, placing a kiss on Castiel’s inner thigh. “Moan for me, Cas.”

“Please,” Castiel grunted, bouncing, cock touching his lips but not sinking in. “You finger me so slowly.”

“No need to rush,” Dean teased, his voice infuriatingly smug.

“Aauhh...” Castiel scowled. “You’re doing it on purpose.”

“Maybe.” Dean let a single fingertip ease around Castiel’s rim, and Castiel clenched tight, wanting to squash Dean’s finger, but he only slipped out, cackling.

“Dean, my _back_ hurts,” Castiel complained. “The longer you make me lie like this—”

“Hey, this was your big idea,” Dean said, one hand up in surrender. “Either wait for me to fuck you or—” He slapped Castiel’s chest with his leash— “ _make me_.”

Castiel growled, rolling to snatch Dean’s leash in hand, bringing him within a half-inch of his face. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Doing what?” Dean asked innocently, still slipping his finger in and out of Castiel’s hole. “What, Cas?”

Castiel opened his mouth to speak, then shut his eyes and chuckled, shaking his head. “That was ‘growly’?”

Dean grinned. “Growly as _fuck_.”

Castiel collapsed again, legs open but feet on the headboard, giving his poor spine a time out.

Dean had proved his point – Cas was _growly_ – so he ceased the fingering, getting up to wash his hands in the bathroom. Castiel shut his eyes while he was gone.

He opened his eyes again when Dean came back and climbed back onto the bed. Castiel grunted and wriggled further away from the headboard so there was space for Dean between his legs.

Dean gave Castiel his leash to hold, and then took Castiel’s thighs in his grasp – “Damn, you got some thick thighs, Cas. Uhf!” – then assembled himself under those thighs, hooking Castiel’s knees over his broad, freckled shoulders.

Castiel folded himself up once more, with Dean’s help.

Dean amused himself for a moment, rutting his cock against Castiel’s hole, making Castiel growl again. Maybe Castiel growled on purpose this time, knowing Dean liked it. Dean looked down at him with delight and satisfaction, and Castiel supposed it was time.

“Oh, God, yeah,” Dean breathed, hands pushing the backs of Castiel’s thighs down to help him reach his cock. “You’re such a freak.”

“Hm,” Castiel said, muttering against his cockhead, trying to tongue it into his mouth. “You’re one to talk, kitten.”

Dean murmured a note unexpected pleasure, then snuck a kiss to Castiel’s inner thigh. “Suck a dick, Cas, I’m goin’ spelunking.”

“Charming,” Castiel said, rolling his eyes. But Dean helped him fit his cock between his lips, fingers and thumb tugging the foreskin a few times before letting Cas have it for himself. Castiel peered up at him, holding his eyes, sucking himself and feeling wonderfully raw under that dark, green gaze.

Dean breathed out, body arched over Castiel’s like a bridge over a river as he readied to push in – and then with the help of a hand, he did, _all at once_ ; Dean sobbed, and Castiel choked on his own cock, pushed to the back of his throat. He coughed himself out, turning his head to breathe.

First he needed to get used to Dean being inside him. Dean shuddered, breath uneven. He was almost on tiptoes, weight on his hands, just trying to keep his hips in the right place so he could fuck Cas and let him suck himself at the same time. He looked down at Castiel in astonishment, like every breath and every touch and every slip of his body into Castiel was a miracle.

“Oh,” Dean mewled, as he rested his head on Castiel’s calf, nuzzling. “Auh, Cas... Cas...”

“That’s it,” Castiel whispered, reaching out from the shadow of his own folded body, hand up to stroke Dean’s hair. “Oh, how beautiful. Is that good? That feel good, kitten?”

Dean nodded frantically, already sweating. “Uhh— Ah...” He sank in swiftly, then eased back, pushing in again. His hips did most of the moving, eyes set firmly on Castiel’s.

“Harder,” Castiel said, letting his voice deepen naturally, suddenly aware of how it roughened, tumbling over easy words. “Fuck me harder, Dean.”

Dean panted, speeding up a little, unbroken eye contact becoming more intense, Dean’s lips parted, plush; his mascaraed lashes fluttering as his drive for gluttony overtook, and he became hungry, feral, thumping into Castiel’s ass and letting free only sounds a beast would make, low and high and everything in between. Sharp, soft, desperate sounds.

Castiel wrapped the leash tighter, bringing Dean down by his throat. “ _Harder_.”

Dean cried out, pink hair flopping onto his forehead as he rode faster, rocking Castiel into the bed, shaking the entire frame. Castiel realised most people would’ve done this the other way, with their heads near the headboard and their feet near the foot of the bed, but here they were, Dean using the headboard for stability, bare feet against it, knees hovering over the pillows, one hand behind Castiel’s head, the other one deep in the blankets. He thrust and thrust and slipped more fiercely into Castiel’s body, their breath rushed and hot on each other’s faces.

“Cas,” Dean whimpered. “Cas—”

“Put—” Castiel forced his voice lower, taking Dean’s hair in a fist, forcing him to cry out. “Put my cock in my mouth. Do it, Dean.”

Dean hastened to obey, smiling all of a sudden, then biting his lip as his pleasured blush only grew. He had to slow his humping for a moment, both their bodies trembling, as he helped Castiel take his cock into his mouth, teeth carefully out of the way.

Dean didn’t need instruction to guess what to do next. He let Cas’ cock go and instead took both of his hands, their fingers interlocking, Castiel’s arms stretched up on the bed. And Dean returned to thrusting, starting slow, working up, until ten seconds had passed as they were fucking hard, slapping skin and making Castiel’s buttocks sting. He frowned with the effort to keep himself steady, sucking himself and not biting. He grasped Dean’s hands harder for reassurance, and comfort. Their faces were too far apart for Dean to give him comfort in proper kisses, so offered soft words – “That’s it, Cas. You’re doin’ awesome. Oh, yeah. Ohhh— Yeah. Yeah.” He put kisses on the only skin he could reach: Castiel’s knee, then thigh, followed by a nuzzle as Dean wiped forehead sweat onto him.

“Mmm,” Castiel moaned, eyes half-closed. “Hmm.” He swallowed around himself, tasting precome, salty and hot and familiarly slimy. His back was searing by now, but it almost didn’t register as pain, only as pressure and heat.

In a too-rough thrust, Castiel’s cock slipped out of his mouth – but he let it go, drawing breath in staggered gasps, lungs only free to inhale when Dean pulled back and let Castiel relax his position – but then Dean started moving so fast and pushing so hard that Castiel found himself laughing because he couldn’t breathe without vocalising, and then he laughed _because_ he laughed, and then he laughed because Dean was laughing too, and they held each other, palms creating twin vacuums, Dean’s head lowering to hang over Castiel’s, laughter curling into his ears as Dean slipped repeatedly into his other end.

They giggled, and snickered, and looked at each other for a split-second only to laugh again, breathless and quivering and helplessly enraptured by each other. Hands gripped tight, Castiel let his legs fall from Dean’s shoulders and slip foot-first under his arms, finally wrapping around Dean’s waist. Castiel sighed as his back was relieved of tension, and then guffawed yet again as Dean began to nuzzle his chest with his soft stubble, purring like a very strange cat.

Taking a hint, Castiel pried the leash back into his hand... but didn’t pull it, only held it.

They looked at each other with love, Dean smiling, Castiel holding his cheek.

Dean’s lashes fluttered and his lips parted – “Auh?”

He tensed, squeezing around Castiel, forehead and nose pressed to his chest. Castiel didn’t feel any difference, as his insides had no nerves, but from Dean’s change in demeanour, he supposed he’d come. Dean began to slow, sighing out his breaths, eyes shut. “Mmh... Hh...”

Dean slipped out of Castiel and backed up naturally as he relaxed. He slipped further down, bunched up against the headboard so he could rest his cheek on Castiel’s hipbone.

Castiel stroked Dean’s sweaty hair. While he did, his eyes darted down, wondering if he could come too. He liked the idea of being so excited by his partner’s climax that he came in the same instant. But alas, he did need physical stimulation, and he didn’t have enough yet. So, Castiel took his cock by its base, moving it in his fist. It wanted to point upward, but he pushed it down, and it went where he wanted: Dean’s hair. He tapped it on his head. Dean lifted his head, surprised by the sight of Castiel’s erection between his eyes.

In his growliest voice, Castiel commanded, “Suck.”

Dean moved immediately: he surged up, taking Castiel’s cockhead under his lips and sinking down, a glorious moan emerging from his chest, vibrating in his mouth and making Castiel moan in turn, lips falling open. Dean bobbed his head, eyes shut, totally at ease and content with an erection in his mouth. Castiel supposed Dean had never done this before, as he was Dean’s first male partner – yet Dean was _good_ at it... Castiel could only assume Dean had practised on his vibrating toy, which had spontaneously exploded while Castiel examined it last week. Truly, for this level of skill... Dean must’ve practised on that toy a _lot_.

Dean groaned deep in his throat, eyes opening so he could watch Castiel. Castiel sucked his own lip, head up to watch Dean.

Dean winked.

Castiel laughed, gasped, then came. He laughed and kept laughing, seeing and feeling his come spill from Dean’s mouth, drooling down his chin. Dean was thrown off his rhythm, and struggled to keep going, but did so for Castiel’s sake. Castiel murmured soft praises – “That was perfect. So incredible, Dean, thank you... ahh, thank you...” then sighing as fatigue took over, weighing down his head until he had to flop to the bed, exhausted. Dean let his cock go, and it collapsed to Castiel’s inner thigh, wet and sore and throbbing happily.

Castiel clenched his ass, then grinned at nothing, loving the echoes of Dean he felt, still thrusting.

Dean grunted, crawling to lie against Castiel, arms around him.

Castiel drew a deep, _deep_ breath, then let it go, peeking out through tired eyes to look at his lover, who gazed back adoringly. Castiel booped his nose. Dean grinned.

Castiel’s fingertips drifted down to the collar, touching it. “Honestly?” he said, his voice still gritty. He had to swallow before he went on. “I don’t think I’ll ever ‘get’ this.”

Dean’s eyes darted downward, unsure how to react.

Castiel stroked his chin. “I’ll still play with you,” he said. “It’s just not my thing.”

“But you do the growly voice,” Dean complained. “You get all— All demanding and snappy and grabby and—?”

Castiel shrugged. “That’s just me, Dean. It’s not designed to tease you.”

Dean pouted.

Castiel chuckled and kissed him, eyes shut, smiling when he saw Dean had shut his eyes too. “Is that a dealbreaker? Should I ship you back to the States in a magic box?”

Dean snorted a laugh. “What, and give up the chance to pet tigers on Sundays? You’re crazy.”

“Crazy,” Castiel agreed. He ran his thumb under Dean’s eyes, brushing away a smudge of mascara. “Petting uncaged tigers, yes, _that’s_ perfectly sane.”

Dean inhaled, grinning when he opened his eyes. “You know,” he said, “I just had a bunch of thoughts. All at once. Boom.”

“Oh? About what? Enlighten me.”

“Uncaged tigers. Kept in the stable with your moose. _Feeding_ so many wild animals, trusting that they’re safe? I’m living in Siberia, underground, without a travel visa or a passport, with my gay boyfriend and more plants than people. This place is crazy, Cas. _Crazy_. It... It makes no sense. It doesn’t, does it? It’s not meant to. It’s magic. It’s supposed to be magic. It’s not meant to be understood. If it was understood then it wouldn’t be magic.”

Castiel looked between Dean’s left eye and his right, intrigued by whatever revelation he was currently having.

Enlivened, Dean went on, “Kids don’t wait up for Santa because he’s a housebreaker who opens their front door with a remote control and puts in a box from Walmart using money from their parents’ bank account. That’s shit. That’s real life. That’s boring. Kinda creepy, even. Kids wait up for Santa, or Befana, or Saint Nicholas, the little house elves – whoever? They wait up because it’s beyond logic. It’s beyond belief. It’s _magical_. Adults laugh and they play along, they notice the realism of the situation. They notice how the wrapping looks as cheap as their apartment, and it doesn’t look magic to them. But to the kids – they _know_ their gift was delivered on a sleigh by some wild animal. They don’t need to see it to know. Because—?”

Dean breathed out, and smiled, more content than Castiel had ever seen him. “Because they have that instinct. The spark. The magic you say everyone has. Kids who meet fairies, they keep honing that instinct as they get older, because they _saw_ something, and they know what they saw even if they don’t remember, or don’t understand, or they think maybe they made it up or dreamed it. Me. You. That guy camped out in the broom closet. Charlie. We kept that instinct, we never let anyone take it, the way grown-ups take our toys or our homes or family or those fleeting moments of childhood we’ll never get back.” There was fury and determination and joy in his eyes, all at once, and Castiel marvelled at how they all fit together comprehensively in his expression.

“Cas,” Dean said, holding both his hands. “We’re fuckin’ magic.”

Castiel chuckled, mouth closed. “Yes.”

“And – we’re not magic at _all_ , are we? We’re just people.”

“Also correct.”

Dean kissed him. “And I love you.”

“Never a truer statement.”

Dean grinned, shutting his eyes and resting his forehead on Castiel’s. “Yeah,” he said. “This thing with you, here, doin’ this? This is gonna be the biggest adventure of my life. Even if it’s just tech support.”

Castiel watched Dean smile with his glittery eyes shut, happy, happy, happy. Cas leaned to kiss Dean’s freckled nose, thumb stroking his cheek.

“I think,” Castiel said, eyebrows rising as his eyes fell closed too, “I always did want a little reality in my fantasy world. Perhaps that’s why I brought you here.”

Dean smiled, humming a laugh. “Am I your rock? Do I ground you?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what you are.” Castiel kissed him one more time. He took the leash in his hand, holding it, looking at it. “Oh,” he said, all of a sudden. He chuckled, and rolled his eyes. “My tether.”

“Tether?”

Castiel waggled the leash. “Tether to reality.”

Dean started to smile. “Next time, you wear it.”

“You know, I just might, Dean.” Castiel took him in his arms and cuddled him, placing a careful kiss on his freckled shoulder. “...I just very well _might_.”

♥

**{ the end }**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, friend!
> 
> ☆ [Reblog the movie poster!!](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/189785090285/sleigh-deancas-46k-explicit-on-christmas)  
> ☆ [Reblog opening lines](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/189785972940/sleigh)  
> ☆ [A rebloggable list of all my Dean/Cas Christmas fics!](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/189785048700/all-my-destiel-christmas-fics)
> 
> And there's [plenty more Destiel fics where this came from](https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/works?fandom_id=27)~!! (I'm also posting [Good Omens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/works?fandom_id=114591) and [Star Trek: Deep Space Nine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/works?fandom_id=8474) these days, with extra fics sprinkled between the Destiel~ And I'm loving it!)
> 
> I always say it with my Christmas fics, but: _♫ aaaall I want foooor Christmaaaas iiiis... kuuuudos...~ ♫_ even though it's like... the 15th thing I actually want. (No more chronic illness. Nice things for my mother? World peace?? Solving world hunger and global warming??? Better government leaders???? Less capitalism????? Can we have that please, that would be nice)  
> Anyway I hope YOU get exactly what you want, because you deserve ALL the nice things. ♥  
> Elmie x


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